Because I'm A Grey Warden
by GreatName
Summary: Following an attack on Vigil's Keep by Templars, The Warden must go into hiding and assemble allies both old and new to counter the new threat. MaleCouslandXBethany eventually. Rated M for Violence, Swearing, and Sexual themes. DA:O and DA2 Spoilers.
1. Prologue, Part One

**Author's Notes:** Just a few things to note first.

*The Warden/Commander/Warden-Commander/Cousland/Hero Of Ferelden/Commander Of The Grey = All the same person. I just use these different titles and such to give variation.

*I intend for this to be a long story, and the things I mentioned in the summary may not come in to place until later.

*The protagonist of this story is a Male Warden with a Human Noble Origin. That means it's the same protagonist in DA:O and it's expansion packs. Also note that for this particular Warden, I'm not going to give him a first name or specifically describe his features. I'll simply use his last name "Cousland" or his titles (e.g. "The Warden," "Warden-Commander," "Hero Of Ferelden"). General adjectives such as "handsome" or "muscular" might apply because that's something that the Bioware writers implied for all male wardens. I ask that you simply think of the same face your warden had when trying to visualize him. If you made a female and/or non-human warden, then just use your imagination.

*I've never played any of DA2's DLC/Expansions, nor have I read any of Dragon Age's Novels. I'm writing this story concerning what I know from Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age Origins, The Awakening Expansion, and any other DLC for DA:O. If any new DLC comes out for DA2 while I'm writing this, I'll probably just ignore it.

*Finally, this story is set shortly after Hawke had killed both Kirkwall's First Enchanter and Knight-Commander (i.e. those last two bosses in the DA2), but has a heavier focus on The Warden and his old companions.

* * *

><p>Thirty.<p>

The word seemed to carry a certain weight for him, like the disdain of a sought-after women realizing they wouldn't be the desire of men forever. It was a petty thing for one to think about, especially one in his position, yet there it was, outshining all else in his mind. The indirect mediator role he was playing between Alistair and the Orlesian Empress, the overdue aid requests for Darkspawn attacks in the new Elven Nation, three different disputes between his bann vassals, and on top of it all: there's some "Hawke" fellow who decided to overthrow Kirkwall's Templar's and is starting to cause some of the circle towers to go restless. Turning thirty years old today should be the least of Warden-Commander Cousland's worries.

Maybe it was his status that caused this. Maybe if he was just another seasoned Grey Warden that still had a world to save in one way or another, it would all be fine. Thirty isn't old after all. He was still in top shape, and there was no man or woman that could best him in single combat, nor were there any aspiring new recruits that had the potential. But what was the last thing he did that history will truly remember? Killing the Archdemon of course. The world didn't sing and dance when he defended Amaranthine. Few knew what danger the altered "Mother" possessed once he had slain it. No one other then himself cared as Morrigan, the only women that felt truly dear to him, slipped through the Eluvian and forever out of his grasp. And now he is at a desk, ordering his rebuilt Ferelden Grey Wardens through signing papers and issuing orders. How long had it been since he used his sword? A year? Two years? He didn't even keep track at anymore. Somewhere inside, he was hoping that the Sixth Blight would come any day now and call him back into the front line.

When he turned twenty-three there were spontaneous celebrations on the street, of course it had only been a month since he had ended the blight then. He was receiving marriage requests from women every time he went for a walk in Denerim. And even a few from men. Actually, a lot from men. Everyone seemed to turn bisexual for some reason after his origins were complete. More importantly, however, everyone he knew were still at his side back then. All the people he had met and recruited, all the people that settled in his camp during the last blight had scattered: Morrigan was never seen again after she disappeared through the Eluvian, Alistair was busy with royal duties and ensuring that his new son wouldn't start out the clueless heir as he was, Zevran was on the run from the Crows, Leliana was allegedly involved with some cloak and dagger business on behalf of The Divine herself, Sten was commanding an Army in the Qunari's war against the Tevinter Imperium, Shale and Wynne hadn't been heard of since they traveled north to the Imperium, and his faithful dog had passed last year from age. Of them all, only Oghren remained at his side, and even he wasn't the same, his drinking habit lessened from his duties as one of The Warden's Lieutenants.

In the midst of his contemplation, the creak of an opening door was heard, and a voice addressed him: "Commander."

A young woman clad in heavy red steel armor entered his study. As was routine for the junior wardens, she briefly bowed her head as she entered to show respect. The Warden-Commander nodded his head in turn, a signal that he was ready to receive today's agenda. She stepped forward, walking with a disciplined posture towards the Warden-Commander's desk. She stopped five paces from his desk, and began verbally listing tasks and notices that required his attention:

"Ser; Nathaniel Howe believes the new recruit is ready to undergo his Deep Roads test and Joining. Knight-Commander Tavish is at the front gate in addition to an unidentified templar, and requests entry. His Majesty has sent you a congratulatory letter regarding your thirtieth birthday. Lastly, the captured warden deserter has been transferred in the Keep's Dungeon as you asked."

Cousland waited a few seconds to ensure she was finished, and then responded with a voice grizzled beyond his years:

"Is that all?"

"Yes, Ser."

"Good. Go tell Howe he has permission to open the Deep Roads gate so the recruit and the newest warden can retrieve the darkspawn blood. Schedule the tribunal in twelve hours for the deserter, and leave Alistair's letter on the desk."

"And what of Tavish?"

The Warden's eyes darted to a paper on his desk, pretending as if he had to double-check something before he gave an answer. Normally, his first reaction would be to send one of his three lieutenants to the gate and have them sort the situation out. Unfortunately; Howe was initiating a recruit to become a full warden, Stroud was investigating recent events in Kirkwall, and Oghren was...undiplomatic. He looked back to his subordinate and replied:

"Do nothing, I'll go meet him myself."

"Yes, Ser."

The junior warden turned and left in a manner as formal as she entered. As the door shut behind her, Cousland stretched his arms towards the ceiling and took a deep breath; inhaling until he felt his lungs pressing against his dragonbone Warden-Commander armor, followed by a strong yawn. Tavish's visit inevitably meant he wanted something, and more than likely wanted something the Commander could not give.

...

The Warden's sight met the sun's glare as he emerged from his study, blinding his surroundings to him briefly. He paced forward, hearing the sound of his armored feet hitting a stone surface beneath him as he did. He stopped at a point a few steps away, looked down from the sun's luminosity, and read a small amount of text one of his wardens had engraved on the floor in a memorial-like fashion:

_Here lay the site where the Hero of Ferelden had slain a Darkspawn Disciple and ended the Darkspawn Occupation of The Keep. It has not fallen since, and it shall not fall again._

The Warden had read that particular engraving every time he had begun his morning routine at The Keep. It was flattering, but but not exactly original. There was one in Redcliffe about killing undead, one in the Circle Tower about killing Abominations, and then his favorite: a statue in front of Fort Drakon with a long description of how he killed The Archdemon, in addition to the children carving their names and obscurities on wherever they could reach it.

"_Why do they always make something about me killing someone? Why not about how I unified the Bannorn or negotiated a peace between the Dalish and Werewolves? Should ask The Chancellor about that next time I see him._"

The Warden abandoned his thoughts and adjusted his line of sight away from the sun, instead peering down into the courtyard of Vigil's Keep.

Ever since killing The Mother, The Keep had grown in both prominence and power. Vigil's Keep had become the warden stronghold his predecessors envisioned, with a force of roughly one hundred Wardens in addition to another three hundred experienced knights sworn in fealty to him. In addition, he had another eight hundred professional soldiers and fifty more wardens scattered through the Arling of Amaranthine, giving him not only a Grey Warden presence comparable to his Orlesian neighbors, but one of the strongest forces in Ferelden. Attacking Vigil's Keep, whether the aggressor be Darkspawn, rebels, Orlesians, or anyone else short of Andraste herself; would be a suicidal mission. Dwarven-make from fine granite, the Keep's walls could withstand direct battering ram charges. And failing its construction, on top of the walls were several marksmen armed with silverite armor and dragonthorn longbows that would thin an army to few before even touching the fort itself. And failing that, there were his Grey Wardens, the majority currently occupying the courtyard under Oghren's supervision. Cousland could spot about seventy of his wardens in the courtyard now, and they were the most colorful sight of any of The Keep's features. While the knights of the Silver Order guarding the walls all had the aforementioned excellent equipment, they all had the same silverite armor and dragonthorn bows, and it would be hard to tell one apart unless standing an arms-length away. The Grey Wardens, on the other hand, bore a variety of different weapons and attires. Drakeskin light armor, ironbark bows, white steel swords, red steel shields; even a few mages with veridium staves and robes ranging from standard Circle of Magi clothing to Tevinter robes fit for an Archon. And that isn't even a fifth of the variety The Commander saw. And yet in spite of these differences, they were more disciplined than the Royal Guard. Each would serve him to their dying breath. Each had individual fighting power rivaling a legion of standard troops.

Once, Cousland brought ten wardens with him on a visit to the Royal Palace for a demonstration. Each would be individually pitted against Ferelden's legendary champions and highest mages as a test to see if The Warden-Commander had them trained as proper Grey Wardens. For all ten Wardens, and for all the different tests of strength, skill, and combat; the Grey Wardens won every time. And during this spectacle and competition, there were several figures of high rank and nobility in the palace that witnessed it. All of them, save Alistair whom was still a warden at his core, were never able to tell exactly how wardens were able to take action as effectively as they did. And in Cousland's mind, an explanation would be along the lines of this:

Every warden knew death. Whenever they fought, whenever they stressed their bodies to perform at their peak; they did so as if fighting for their for life. No intermediate stage, no "going soft." Some let their arrogance blind them; but those with the taint have nightmares of being overwhelmed by darkspawn, a hard training regimen, and no chains other than duty to their mortality.

But it seems like not all were respecting that as of now. Observing the courtyard further, he saw two figures in Templar Armor just outside the front gate, with Oghren standing opposite from them. Instinct telling The Warden-Commander this couldn't end well, he turned towards the walkway on his left, and began moving towards the base of the keep.

...

Oghren, clad in Legion of The Dead armor, stood inside The Keep while accompanied by a younger elven Grey Warden under his command. Standing opposite of them just outside the keep were a fully armored Knight-Commander Tavish, and a young female Templar similarly armored with everything but the helmet, and was presumably acting as his bodyguard. She had a stoic indifference to any actions or words that didn't involve harm to her Templar superior, including the continuous stare Oghren held towards her.

Tavish, whom was keeping a glare on Oghren while pacing in impatience, began speaking:

"I came here with the intention to negotiate with the Commander himself."

Oghren, ignoring him completely and instead spoke to the female bodyguard: "Are you sure you're not a baker? Cause you got a sodding nice set of buns."

With the bodyguard subsequently ignoring him, Tavish continued trying to get the dwarf's attention: "I came here to discuss a matter of utmost importance!"

Oghren broke his gaze and looked at Tavish: "Was Bella's Brewery attacked?"

"What? No, the matter is-"

Oghren interrupted him and gave a terse reply: "Oh."

He returned to staring at the bodyguard: "Eheheh, how'd you like some sauce for that rump roast."

Tavish attempted to catch his attention once more: "Ferelden's Commander of the Grey must hear the consequences of the dire action he has performed!"

Oghren looked at Tavish again: "Do you have an appointment?"

"Well, no. But this-"

"Oh."

Oghren returned to staring at the junior Templar once more: "So woman, have you ever done it with a Grey Warden before?"

Tavish turned towards the elven warden: "Is this dwarf really a Grey Warden?"

"He outranks me, actually."

Tavish looked at the ground and shook his head: "Maker..."

The aforementioned banter more or less repeated itself for another ten minutes or so, until the Commander that Tavish had been seeking appeared, doing so suddenly as if he had silently teleported next to his comrades without any transition out of the building. And just as immediately as he appeared, Tavish posed a less-than-pleased question:

"Warden-Commander, was it really necessary for you to have taken as long as you did to arrive here?"

"Actually, I arrived here five minutes ago, I was just hiding on top of the wall because I didn't want to miss a second of Oghren time here."

Tavish sighed, and the Commander waited a few seconds for his frustration to calm down until continuing to speak:

"Anyway, Knight-Commander Tavish, it's been a while. Is your Templar Chapter in Denerim doing well?"

"It's been better."

"A lot of things have. And what of this Templar you've brought with you? I don't believe we've met before."

The female Templar lowered her head in respect and broke her silence to address him: "Hero of Ferelden."

She looked back up at him and kept a refined posture as if she were one of his own soldiers, and began speaking again.

"I don't know if you remember me, but, I was a young girl in Redcliffe's chantry when the undead were attacking."

The Warden looked at her with an almost curious manner, and replied:

"You were on one knee and praying with Revered Mother Hannah, weren't you?"

"I...yes, that was me. Do I really look so much like my younger self that you could recognize me?"

"Nonsense, I remember everyone from those days. I just couldn't recognize it was you at first because you've become such a beautiful young woman."

"I...well...ah..."

With the female Templar unexpectedly finding herself without a proper response and fighting to keep the blood from rushing to her cheeks, Oghren ruined the moment with an untempered interruption.

"But what about my sodding-"

"Oghren, go check on the other Wardens. We'll break into the wine cellar after the Tribunal."

Oghren mumbled a few incomprehensible words as he walked away, the elven warden following. Tavish, curious of what the Warden just said, inquired:

"Tribunal?"

"It's for a Grey Warden Deserter."

"Is it for a mage?"

If Tavish wasn't wearing a helmet, Cousland probably would've seen him raise an eyebrow.

"Yes it is. But it's not the mage you're thinking of. And if you're here about that particular mage, then go ahead and step inside. And take off that helmet. Half the reason people don't trust Templars are because you decide to wear those ominous carved buckets on your head."

The Warden-Commander made a slight sideways nod of his head for the Knight-Commander follow him and began walking towards the center of the courtyard. Tavish followed with his bodyguard closely watching, taking off his helmet and tucking it under his arm. The Warden stopped in front of Vigil's Keep's merchant area, next to the bulk of his Wardens. Tavish stopped alongside the Warden, looking around at the crowd of Wardens as if trying to find a certain individual. The Warden-Commander noticed this, and quickly replied to Tavish's non-verbal question:

"The Blood Mage isn't in there. He's currently in the preparation process of The Joining."

Tavish turned his attention back towards Cousland:

"Then he hasn't become a true Grey Warden yet, has he?"

Cousland returned eye contact, and noticed Tavish's face as he did. Tavish still had the same stern expression and manner, little different from the man he was when he was standing close to Arl Eamon's Estate in Denerim, ready to make an Exalted March against the Mages' Collective. However, while he had not softened his zeal, he had aged considerably. The Warden had met him eight years ago during the Fifth Blight, but he looked like he had aged two decades. His red hair turned grey, and his face was developing deeper wrinkles. It sparked an internal interest The Warden himself had: whether or not others thought the same of him. Of course he wasn't old, but the change from twenty to thirty that he had been thinking of haunted him still. Again, he wasn't old, but was he perhaps "older," and perhaps when he was giving orders and looking one of his soldiers or wardens in the eye, they thought the same about his face and age. This thought echoed through his mind, with Cousland having to force it to the back of his head so he could reply:

"He has been conscripted under my orders, which are permitted by the Crown. It is not of your concern."

"It is not merely my concern, he is maleficarum. It is all of our concern."

"Oh? All of our concern?"

"Magic exists to-"

Cousland interrupted, finishing his sentence for him: "to serve man, and never to rule over him. Your point? The Grey Wardens have conscripted many blood mages in the past, and have occasionally had conscripted circle mages turn to a darker side for the greater good."

"Regardless, it is the Chant of Light from which that phrase originates. Will you defy Andraste's Law for this man?"

"I've done a lot of things that Andraste wouldn't approve of. And I'm not proud of that. But if I must forever wander the Fade a lost soul after death because those same actions saved the kingdom, than I have no regrets either."

"Than you are not even a Follower of the Chant?"

Cousland looked towards the sky with vein hope that the Maker himself pop out and explain the fine line between following The Chantry's law in an abstract sense versus taking every word of it literally.

"Tavish, why did you come here? Why did you travel on foot all the way from Denerim to my Arling when you should be at the Grand Cleric's side?"

"For the Blood Mage's-"

"No you didn't. You came here to talk about the blood mage. But you didn't come here for the blood mage. This blood mage I've conscripted into the Wardens is just the Means. True that you wish to revoke my actions and imprison this blood mage. But then what is the End?"

"The Chant of Light is-"

"Did you come here on behalf of The Chant, or The Chantry? Do you really expect me to believe that this mage concerns just The Chant of Light's phrase about magic, when I've already conscripted twelve other mages into my order since taking Command of The Wardens? Or is it The Chantry's reputation, which is being tested by the new First Enchanter and his Templar Ally?"

Tavish opened his mouth to speak, but quickly realized that he didn't have a true rebuttal before he could form words. The Warden spoke truth, and nothing but truth. In the years following The Hero Of Ferelden's successful battle against the Archdemon, Ferelden's Circle of Magi had become a source of controversy and conflict. Following the Circle Tower's purging of abominations by The Warden-Commander, there were few mages left save Irving and a handful of those barely living through the incident. To this end, the templars doubled their efforts on catching apostate mages in order to bring more new blood into the Tower and attempt to restore it to normalcy. While this managed to be fairly successful, many of the aggressively captured mages were disdained over their captors show of force, and many who survived their Harrowing joined the Libertarians' Enchanter Fraternity, which had traditionally been in the minority in comparison to Aequitarians and Loyalist Fraternities. And in the midst of this, both Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving passed from age, both of which were long part of The Circle and pivotal to maintaining its stability. The Grand Cleric of Ferelden, whom had often simply deferred to Greagoir's judgement on matters of The Circle, appointed Senior Enchanter Torrin, the highest ranked mage other than Irving to survive Uldred's attack and a moderating influence in Circle Politics, as First Enchanter of The Circle. And in an attempt to appease the newer circle members whom were affected by the Templar's efforts; she appointed Knight-Commander Harrith, once Commander of the Redcliffe Chantry's Templars and a supporter of greater Magi freedom, as the new Knight-Commander of Lake Calenhad's Tower. Harrith, whom was once a secret ally of the Mages' Collective and Tavish polar opposite, took a hands-off approach towards his management of The Tower and was willing to cede virtually any freedom The Enchanters would agree on short of full independence. And thus, The Libertarian Fraternity seized the opportunity for Ferelden's Mages to have greater rights and autonomy. Apprentices could have their Harrowing delayed if an Enchanter deemed it necessary, Senior Enchanters could take a vote to allow a mage or group of mages be granted leave from the Tower without Templar supervision or protest, templars had to follow a lengthy and bureaucratic procedure if they believed a mage was practicing forbidden arts, and a number of other risky freedoms were granted in this time. This did, however, keep the mages passive, and true independence was still considered something of an extremist ideal.

Or at least it was until an influential figure known as the Champion of Kirkwall decided to help Kirkwall's Circle of Magi overthrow their local templars, which in turn has sparked rallying cries throughout Thedas for a Mage Revolution. Though none of the Circles had rebelled, at least not yet, it was on the tongue of every mage, and probably the last thing Ferelden needed while it was still licking its wounds from The Blight. First Enchanter Torrin died shortly after the Kirkwall Incident under suspicious circumstances, and was replaced by a strong opponent of The Chantry, whom to make matters worse was a young and charismatic figure, possibly even a successor to the Grand Enchanter come the next time the College of Magi put the incumbent one to a vote.

After a long pause, Tavish started to speak again, taking a more casual tone:

"The new First Enchanter, it hasn't even been ten years since he passed his Harrowing."

"He's around my age, isn't he?"

"Younger, actually."

Tavish's comment reignited a hidden irritation in The Warden's mind. Again, there it was: thirty years old. Hiding this, the Warden continued:

"He's half a Calender Age younger than Irving was. But I doubt he's so much a fool that he would break from the Chantry entirely."

Tavish turned from Cousland, facing back towards the gate. He placed his templar helm back onto his head, and began walking towards the exit, saying a few words as he did:

"Than it is clear I cannot persuade you. May the Maker watch over you, Hero of Ferelden."

...

The Vigil's Keep Dungeon's maintenance was not exactly a priority on the Warden-Commander's list. In fact, ever since he took over The Keep as Commander of the Grey, he had only had one prisoner: Nathaniel Howe. And that man was now one of his top Wardens. Since then, The Dungeon had remained empty, his soldiers at The Keep itself were neither foolish or unloyal to do something worth locking them up over, and any outsiders attempting to harm Vigil's Keep would simply be killed. And for that reason, the dungeon lacked any cleanliness, facilities, or even a single well-lit candle or lamp, making it impossible for someone to see further than a couple meters away while they were in the building. So when Cousland entered the same building he first met Nathaniel Howe at, he heard a guard draw his sword and shout:

"Halt, name yourself."

"My full name? Seeing as how everyone likes to call me as one of my nine different titles instead of my actual name, you can just call me 'Your Boss.'"

"Commander, I apologize. I did not recognize it was you."

"No harm done, I just finished speaking with our templar guests, and figured I should stop by here before directing the morning training. Anyway, how's our prisoner? Or should I just ask them myself?"

"Nothing to report, Ser. The deserter is still not speaking and remains detained in the cell behind me."

"Ah, in that case, hand me the cell key and take a break, soldier. I'd like to question the prisoner alone."

"Yes, Ser."

The guard approached the Warden-Commander and gave him a key to unlock the sole cell in the room, fumbling to do so because of the dungeon's poor lighting. He left shortly after, leaving only The Warden and a prisoner unseen by Cousland's eyes due to the room's darkness. The Warden approached the cell slowly, hoping the prisoner would say something first. But the prisoner remained silent, and even as The Warden-Commander opened the door and entered their cell, they said nothing. Knowing that they would be tight-lipped about any useful information the may give before their trial, The Commander started by reciting their crimes:

"So, according to my reports, you deserted from your post under Stroud and disobeyed his orders to stay away from Kirkwall. Furthermore, you were seen fighting the templars in the recent Kirkwall rebellion, and according to Stroud he found you after you had fled from the Gallows following The Champion's final sighting there. Is this true?"

There was no answer. The Warden waited a full minute before asking his next question, unsure if the non-response was from spite or uncertainty.

"Would you care to explain any justifications, or deny anything I've spoken?"

No response.

"Perhaps there is something you wish to say me now before your trial?"

Again, no response.

"Right, so I see you clearly don't want to speak with me. But before I go, could you do me a favor simply to ease the whole process? Stroud may have reported your actions, but he was particularly elusive regarding details to your background. So I'll make you a deal, I'll have myself and my guards stop harassing you until the trial if you can just tell me a few things about yourself. Perhaps something about your origin, or something a sibling of yours did. Or instead, how about your name? As peculiar as it seems, Stroud seemed to have excluded your name from the report, and we'll have to address you as 'prisoner' at your tribunal if you won't give a name."

There was still only silence from the deserter. Taking this as a nonverbal "no," Cousland turned and began to exit the cell. But as he was about to close and re-lock the cell-door, he heard a feminine voice speak to him:

"My name is Bethany Hawke, and my sister was the Champion of Kirkwall."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes: <strong>In case there's some references to DA:O or DA2 that you didn't understand, here's a convenient little list of bullet points explaining some references:

*Cousland=Last name of Warden with Human Noble Origin.

*Knight-Commander Harrith is the guy you bribe with Lyrium potions in a Mages' Collective quest. Knight-Commander Tavish is the guy you can give the bribe to if you want to expose The Collective.

*Fifth Blight=The Blight that The Warden dealt with in Dragon Age: Origins.

*Vigil's Keep=The fortress you arrive at in the start of the Awakening expansion.

*The Divine=Head of the Chantry. They are situated in Val Royeaux (i.e. The Capital City of Orlais), and are occasionally called the "White Divine" in contrast to the Tevinter Chantry which has its own "Black Divine" that is not recognized by any other country. According to the Dragon Age Wiki the Divine as of DA2's events is Justinia V, whom actually was once Revered Mother Dorothea, the same figure who saved Leliana's life in the DA:O DLC Leliana's Song.

*Grand Cleric=The sub-leaders of individual countries/nations Chantry divisions. Second only to the Divine in Chantry ranks.

*Libertarians, Aequitarians, and Loyalists are three of the Circle of Magi's largest "Fraternities," each being something of a political party amongst Mages who hold power. Loyalists are those who approve of the Chantry's dominance of The Circle of Magi, Libertarians are those who want their Circle to have more autonomy or in some cases complete independence from the Chantry. Aequitarians are moderates, with ideals lying somewhere between the Loyalists and Libertarians' beliefs. Irving, Wynne, and most of the Circle Tower's enchanters were noted to be Aequitarians. Uldred was a Libertarian whom advocates full independence; and Anders can be considered to hold Libertarian beliefs, though not actually of an Enchanter Fraternity because he is an apostate.

*Calendar Age=The lore equivalent of a century. Each Age lasts 100 years and is named after a certain event or such. The current Age is the Dragon Age, named after a high dragon's rampage towards the previous age. The Ages in chronological order are: Divine, Glory, Towers, Black, Exalted, Steel, Storm, Blessed, Dragon. Each year is dated by the chronological number of its Age, followed by a colon and then how many years have passed during that particular Age. For example, Dragon Age: Origins starts at 9:30 (Thirty years into the Dragon Age) and ends at 9:31. DA2 starts towards late 9:30 in the prologue (Hawke fleeing Lothering), with Act 1 starting at 9:31 (Hawke meeting Varric and starting Deep Roads Expedition), Act 2 starting at 9:34 (Hawke regaining his family estate and killing the Arishok during the Qunari attack on Kirkwall), Act 3 starting at 9:37 (Anders destroying the Kirkwall Chantry and Hawke killing Kirkwall's First Enchanter and Knight-Commander), with the game ending at 9:40 which is when Varric is being interrogated by Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and the Mage-Templar war is at its height). This fanfiction starts at early 9:38 (Two years before Varric's interrogation by the Seekers and a little less than a year after Hawke kills Knight-Commander Meredith to be precise).


	2. Prologue, Part Two

**Author's Notes: **I noticed something mentioned in a review about the Blood Mage I mentioned assaulting Vigil's Keep. Neither Bethany nor the Blood Mage/Warden Recruit actually attacked the Keep itself. The descriptions I put in the last chapter were meant to describe exactly how strong The Warden's fortress is (and upon proofreading it, I don't really see anything that suggests someone actually did attack). Also, the clear up anything further, here's some more of bullet points:

*Bethany (Hawke's sister from DA2 and the prisoner in the last section of the first chapter) was detained for deserting the Grey Wardens. If you've played DA2 and made her a Grey Warden instead of a Circle Mage, she'll return at the end after you side with either The First Enchanter or Knight-Commander. She'll rejoin your party, and if you select the dialogue option about the Grey Wardens, she'll say something along the lines of: "Right now I'm not a Grey Warden, I'm you're sister." Given the Grey Wardens' neutrality policy, I always thought it was likely that she ended up deserting to fight at her sibling's side, given Stroud wouldn't even help Kirkwall when it was attacked by the Qunari. This story makes the assumption that she did in fact desert, and was later captured and sent to Vigil's Keep to be tried for abandoning the Wardens and violating their neutrality.

*The reason the Blood Mage was recruited wasn't mentioned and probably won't be (at least not in the prologue). What's more important about him is that The Warden chose to recruit them at the same time when Mage-Chantry tensions are high (i.e. he's more a plot device than a full character).

*Yes, I do like making these little Author Notes sections longer than they should be. Just 'cause.

Also, thanks to everyone who took the time to review. I'm not too familiar with DA fanfiction, and it's nice to see some of you think I've had a good start.

* * *

><p>An enclosed room with no windows or other direct connection is lit by a sole oil lamp attached to the ceiling. The lamp's fuel is substandard and although it gives a large enough flame for its lighting radius to reach all four corners of the room, it burns less brightly, and gives the room a dark orange hue.<p>

But The Warden enjoyed it, the semi-darkness made it feel like he was fighting underground in the deep roads, or some other adventurous place of danger akin to his old travels. It was the Warden-Commander's personal training room, a fairly new installation; something Cousland requested to be added in to the Keep a couple years ago, but ever since its construction he wasn't sure how he ever got by without it. It was equipped with a line of practice dummies, each covered by a thick layer of solid Volcanic Aurum in order to simulate heavily armored foes and prevent The Commander from breaking the dummies (which happened fairly often when he hit the standard wooden counterparts his subordinate Wardens and Knights used); in addition to a few archery targets on the opposite side and a large clearing in the center for sparring and any unorthodox practice that he would need extra room for. And every day, every week, every month; he would spend hours, sometimes an entire day if he could, in his training room. Even through the reinforced stone walls, one could hear the thunderous sound of his weapons impacting a surface or his exhausted breaths throughout The Keep.

The Warden put everything he had into his training. He could no longer fight every day, or even every year at his current position. And he once fought every hour he was awake, clinging to his life while darkspawn hunted him as he was trying to fix a thousand problems at once. And now he was in a position of the absolute opposite, and everyday his muscular frame ached to be used and pushed. He would give a dummy a deathly stare as if the mannequin could be intimidated, and then swing wildly at it like a starved peasant attacking a food merchant, in hopes that the fire he brings to improving himself would transform him into something better. It's not like it hadn't happened before; he was once a noble, then a exiled noble, then a Grey Warden, then a public enemy, then a national hero, then an aspiring young Warden-Commander, which in turn made him a bored man that sits around and orders people to do things for him rather than do it himself, with that latest incarnation only encouraging him to train harder with hopes he'll become something new. Maybe he could do more. Maybe he'd inspire his comrades to have future missions become even better, improving their "minimal casualties" reports from two deaths to none. Maybe he'd rise to the occasion when he next commanded the Wardens to battle or war, driving away every enemy as he led from front before they could reach the good men and women fighting for him. Maybe he could extend his lifespan, and cheat death when his final calling comes in twenty years' time. Maybe he'd become so powerful that his abilities would transcend all others, and he could reunite Thedas and name the next Age after Peace. Or maybe he could just get his mind off of this entire "thirty is old" thought if he hit the damned dummy hard enough to pierce through its armor.

Tonight was no different from any of his other training sessions, and if anything, it was intensified. Cousland stood a meter from the training dummy; unclothed from the waist and above, his skin colored like copper from the orange lighting. Sweat streamed from every pore of his torso and face, coating him in raw-smelling moisture.

He held no sword or any other object in his hands, instead hitting his target with nothing more than two clenched fists. This is what The Warden liked to call "Endurance Training." While he did perform some hand-to-hand combat techniques, it wasn't the focus. What was the focus, was the fact that he was hitting a solid nigh-unbreakable metal with his bare fists. A metal that the finest armors were made from, and a metal that would damage him far more than what would happen to itself when struck. Yet, he was unrelenting, as if oblivious to the pain. His arms moved with both unrivaled dexterity and strength, striking the mannequin in various points and ways. A hook to its temple, uppercut to its chin, cross to its nose; Cousland gave the same unpredictable variety to the practice equipment as if it were living and had the potential to block. All while he felt sweat drain him of his hydration, his muscles painfully rippling of soreness, and the growing build up of hematoma around his knuckles.

In the midst of this, he heard a door open behind him. Expecting this, he didn't bother to turn as the same subordinate Warden that acted as his assistant and addressed him in his study entered the training room, and spoke his familiar title before giving a message:

"Commander, Seneschal Varel has sent me to inform you that the tribunal is ready to begin."

Upon hearing these words; Cousland reared his right arm until he couldn't move his shoulder any further, focused his last reserve of stamina into his bicep, and swung a long, powerful haymaker towards the dummy's nose. A thunderous sound of impact echoed throughout the enclosure as his fist connected with the target, even chipping off part of its armor and doing tenfold damage to The Warden-Commander's hand.

Immediately after his last attack, both of his hands placed themselves on his knees as he leaned over and panted from near-exhaustion. He felt the weight of his fatigue begin to hit him as everything in his world began to feel heavy, as if an unmoving force just wanted him to fall down.

A handkerchief held by the junior warden entered his sight.

"Here, I heard you training on the way here."

Cousland managed to control his breathing enough to mutter a weak "Thanks" before grabbing the handkerchief offered to him with his right hand and wiping his face. However, when he handed it back, he realized that the back of his hand which had been holding it was bleeding from skin torn clear off of his knuckles due to his last punch, blood running freely from the exposed subcutaneous tissue and covering his hand in red. The junior warden noticed this as well, and cringed slightly at the sight. The Warden pointed towards the archery targets on the other side of the room and began to coherently speak again:

"Could you, ah, fetch me those bandages I put on top of that target in the corner?"

"Of course, Commander."

The junior warden briskly walked to the pointed target, removing her armor gauntlets as she did so she would be able to apply the bandages without having to struggle with the thick metal covering her fingers. Grabbing the simple white gauze bandage roll, she hurried back to The Warden. However, as she then attempted to hold Cousland's wrist up for support while , she immediately recoiled and lost her grasp. Cousland's skin felt almost searingly hot to touch in comparison to the cold stone rooms of the Vigil, the intensity of his training having risen it as such. Noticing this, The Warden-Commander gently grabbed the bandage roll, carefully making sure not to transfer more heat to her. His breath starting to return to its normal volume, he began to speak casually as wrapping the bandages around his hand:

"Here, you really don't need apply these for me. Anyway, you said Varel's ready to start the trial?"

The junior warden blinked, having momentarily forgot the reason she was sent here. She responded after a short pause from her mind blank:

"Well...yes, he is. But, Commander, the decision of when to start rests on you."

"Of course it does, why mention that?"

"You seem somewhat...unprepared, Ser."

Cousland grinned to himself, and responded:

"I'm always ready for anything, a few scratches on my hand won't stop that."

"I would not call your wounds mere 'scratches,' Commander. And I was speaking of your condition mentally, not physically."

"Hm? I'm feeling okay all-around right now if you're trying to suggest something."

"What I'm suggesting is that you should take an hour. To contemplate the defendant's charges, or consult with the Seneschal or Nathaniel Howe of them. According to your schedule, you have merely continued with your day without any alterations concerning the tribunal, and it would not be-"

Cousland, who had finished wrapping the gauze bandages over his hand at this point, raised his unwounded hand and interrupted her:

"How long have you been a Grey Warden?"

"I completed my Joining under the instruction of Stroud nine months ago, Ser."

"I see, and what do you think of desertion of The Grey Wardens? What would you do if you became Commander of The Grey?"

"Well, The Wardens have recruited many deserters of armies in the past so-"

Cousland interrupted her again: "Indeed we have recruited deserters from armies, but what happens when one deserts from The Grey Wardens themselves? Do you know what happens then?"

"...No, I do not."

"Of course you don't, you're too loyal to have thought of it yourself I hope, and it is something that occurs too rarely for us to have a general idea of. In my years as Ferelden's Warden-Commander, not a single Grey Warden has voluntarily left my service, nor have any disobeyed my orders. All of them, save one."

Cousland broke eye contact with his subordinate, walked past her, and looked towards the ceiling as he continued:

"The first Warden I invoked the Right of Conscription was a mage, just someone who wanted to be free and live his life as his own. I defended him from the Templars, and he stood by me as I drove the remaining darkspawn from Amaranthine. But the same desire for freedom that he held during his time in the Tower was not sated as he traded his chains for a calling. Shortly after I killed The Mother, he expressed his desire to take leave for a post in the Free Marches. I agreed, appointed him as one of my Sub-Commanders, and appointed him head of Grey Warden operations of Southern Free Marches. He left for his post, and when it came time for him to report back, nothing was heard. He had sailed north to Kirkwall, never to return. To many others in the Order, he was not merely a deserter, but a man of no honor, of no worth. Becoming a Grey Warden is not a liberation, not a solution, it is a Calling. For a Grey Warden, there is no previous life, and there is no future life, there is only your duty."

The Warden-Commander turned back towards her, and continued with an intimidating look in his eyes:

"That mage's name was Anders, and he is a wanted criminal in every nation I know. He has murdered Kirkwall's Grand Cleric, slaughtered countless members of the Chantry, and is as central to today's Mage-Templar situation as the Champion herself. And now we have another deserter, who is a mage as well. And she did not only desert; but took part in Anders' rebellion, helped kill two of Kirkwall's most prominent leaders, and just so happens to be related to the Champion."

"And what does this have to do with preparing?"

"It means that she has virtually no excuse, it means that this tribunal is only ceremonial, it means that the verdict to this trial has already been decided."

"And what would that verdict be?"

Cousland closed his eyes and shook his head before responding:

"I'd rather not say it."

The junior warden attempted to say something, but felt a certain lump in her throat when she realized exactly what the Commander was trying to convey. After a long pause, the Warden-Commander walked towards the door and spoke as he opened it:

"But I believe I've said enough anyway. Go ahead and tell Varel I just need a few minutes to change back into my armor, and that Bethany Hawke's trial needn't be delayed."

...

The Warden stood before a common wooden door. Somehow, he had managed to use the few minutes to transform from an untamed man fresh from high-energy training, to looking as refined and postured as his high nobility heritage intended. His skin immaculate, face closely shaven, Warden-Commander armor polished to the point that light reflected off it. An outsider would be hard-pressed to believe that this was the same fierce Grey Warden that once spent his days soaked in the blood of his enemies.

Cousland placed one hand on the door in front of him. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the moment before he would be forced to be a rigid official. He than exhaled sharply, opened his eyes, pushed the door open and entered the Throne Room of Vigil's Keep.

The tribunal was being held in the same large room where the trio of Seneschal Varel, Mistress Woolsey, and Captain Garevel once stood and advised him on ruling; in addition to his companions resting between missions during his starting year as Commander Of The Grey. As The Warden-Commander entered, the first anomaly he spotted was two long parallel lines of standing wardens; each line reaching from the wall that the door Cousland just passed through was connected, to the steps that lead to the Throne itself. Each warden of both lines faced towards the other line, standing still with their voices silent.

As The Warden-Commander took his first step inside the Throne Room, all of the Wardens simultaneously fell to kneeling on one knee and bowing their heads out of respect. They held this position as their Commander moved forward, his metallic boots impacting the floor as the only sound in the room as he walked slowly towards the throne with his head up, his eyes locked forward, and the stern expression of an army's general formed on his face.

Half-way across the room, he noticed the second anomaly. The fire typically in the center of the room had been put out, the circular grey fireplace where it was held had instead been cleaned of logs and ashes, having been converted to the point where the Defendant must stand, and thus the coming trial's focal point.

Cousland stepped through the extinguished fireplace, only a few steps away from the throne when he noticed the third anomaly. Nathaniel Howe and Oghren were at the end of each of the lines, their respective line representing the division of The Keep's Wardens that they were in command of.

And finally, though not entirely an anomaly, Seneschal Varel stood to the right of the Arl's Throne (which was, by extension, The Warden-Commander's throne), the only figure in the room other than Cousland that wasn't currently standing in the two lines.

Cousland made the final steps towards the throne, than proceeding to turn and gradually sit down on it. With the lack of movement, and his wardens holding their kneeling position and silence, there was complete silence. Not even a single cough or assorted noise, just pure, obedient reticence. The Warden-Commander leaned forward from his seat, and uttered a single, echoing word:

"Rise."

All of the lined up Grey Wardens snapped back to standing tall on two feet, though maintaining their speechless manner.

Varel leaned towards Cousland and whispered:

"Commander, your assistant will arrive with the prisoner in a minute. Also, Nathaniel Howe has informed me that both the new recruit and the warden that was sent with him haven't returned with the darkspawn blood. They may have fallen to the darkspawn."

The Warden-Commander outwardly maintained his appearance and quietly nodded his head in acknowledgment, inwardly bottling up the fact that two men under his command died from those cursed creatures.

The door opened once more, this time with two figures: Bethany Hawke wearing the blue and silver Grey Warden attire entered first, accompanied by the Warden-Commander's assistant following her and holding an unsheathed sword to her back.

One could describe the situation as a severe difference of perspective. The Warden-Commander entered the room seeing a familiar setting and scores of Wardens that would protect his life to their dying breath. But Bethany entered the room seeing those same figures as menacing men and women that would take her life with ease, she could feel the tip of a sword lightly resting on the back of her neck, and on top of it all: The Hero of Ferelden was at the opposite side of the room; his eyes non-movingly fixed on her, stoic and authoritarian, his expression serious and unchanging. It felt like being in the presence of one of mighty kings of old, every threatening being in the Keep loyal to him above all else, and now, he was to pass judgement on her. Gone was the casual-mannered man that spoke to her in the dungeon, now he was the intimidating legend that others spoke of so highly.

Bethany reached the center of the extinguished fire place. Thankfully, the junior warden which had been holding the sword towards her didn't follow her once she reached it. Instead, all of the Grey Wardens between the fireplace and the entrance encircled the fireplace, blocking everything but the space between her and the Commander.

Bethany looked down towards the floor, unable to return the Commander's icy gaze. She felt her hands and feet starting to go numb, her head feeling light. One can not accurately describe the fear she was experiencing. Perhaps the closest thing to it would be the thoughts racing through someone's mind if they were free-falling from a mile above the ground with no working parachute: you can see where you're headed, you know what's going to happen when you hit that point, you know that everything will end soon, but there is nothing that you can do about it. All you can do is look at the frighteningly magnificent view as you go down.

Cousland's voice tersely broke the silence once more: "Begin."

Seneschal Varel stepped forward away from The Warden-Commander and began to speak as the lone voice of the room: "This tribunal brought to order under the authority of The Grey Wardens' Commander Of The Grey for the Kingdom of Ferelden under the Sovereign His Majesty King Alistair I, as appointed from The First Warden of Weisshaupt, as the Maker has allowed. The accused, Bethany Hawke, stands charged with one count of Desertion for abandoning her post under her superior Warden-Lieutenant Stroud, and two counts of violating the Grey Warden's Neutrality: one for each the death of First Enchanter Orsino and Knight-Commander Meredith. Do you deny these charges?"

"No."

Bethany's voice sounded weak, almost silent. Not hearing her verbal denial the first time, Varel repeated himself, speaking louder as he did: "Do you deny these charges?"

Bethany repeated her "No" more audibly, though stuttering on the "O" sound as she did. She hadn't felt this powerless since she was first infected with darkspawn blood.

Varel paused for a moment, making sure the Commander behind him had noted that she had more-or-less just pleaded guilty and thus eliminated the need for witnesses or any other lengthy process. He continued:

"Did you find any evidence concerning The Architect or any future Blights?"

"No."

"To your knowledge, was the Kirkwall Incident in any way related to the darkspawn?"

Bethany shook her head and replied:

"It had nothing to do with the darkspawn."

Varel looked back towards the Commander. Bethany's willingness to admit her crimes had progressed the trial tenfold faster than what was expected. Cousland held up one index finger on his left hand, signifying that only one more question was needed before the verdict. Seeing this, Varel turned back, and spoke his final question:

"I see. And for what reason did you commit these acts?"

"For my sister."

"What of your sister?"

"My sister was being attacked by the Kirkwall Templars for doing what she thought was right. My brother was...killed by darkspawn. My mother...there was a blood mage that...I don't even know. And my sister...the Templars...I just wanted to do something. My whole life, my family's always thrown themselves in my way whenever a Templar knocked on the door or a couple darkspawn roamed close to Lothering. And when it was their time, I couldn't do anything. I wasn't fast enough to stop Carver, I was too far away to help my Mother. And one day I had heard that there might be civil war in Kirkwall, and saw that I could finally do something this time. I...know that doesn't make things right, being a Grey Warden. But that's my reason, I didn't think of darkspawn, or Blights, or anything but her."

Varel stood silent for a good amount of time after she finished to let the Wardens form their opinions, responding when he believed they were ready:

"Very well, there are no further questions. Are the Grey Wardens ready for a consensus?"

Almost immediately following Varel, Bethany heard a voice behind her:

"Guilty."

And immediately after them, another voice:

"Guilty."

And another:

"Guilty."

Soon everyone in the room save the Seneschal and Commander were repeating that same word to her. Bethany turned a full 360 degrees, looking at the hostile beings surrounding her, not seeing a single one that didn't say "Guilty." Not even a man or woman that bothered to abstain from vocal opinion.

In the middle of Bethany's rotation, as she was turning back towards her original position, she noticed from the corner of her eye the a prominent shadow had been cast across the room. And as soon as it appeared, everything in the throne room was silent once more, save a voice that followed:

"There was a man."

Once she had moved the full 360 degrees, she realized that Cousland had risen from the Throne, casting a shadow across the room and standing taller than all else from his position on top of the stairs. The focal point of the room had immediately snapped from her to him, even Bethany finally managing to look him back in the eye as he spoke:

"A young man, nobility I believe. He was good-looking, charming, intelligent, had an optimistic 'I want to change the world!' sort of philosophy. Nice guy too, his speech was always polite and he never tried to offend anyone. And though he was a skilled duelist and unstoppable with a blade in his sparring, he was emotionally sensitive, and cared deeply for all he knew. He never wanted to hurt anyone, and aspired to be one of the few selfless and enlightened members of the Ferelden Nobility."

The Warden-Commander began to pace in front of the throne, continuing to speak and keeping his head turned towards Bethany as he did:

"However, one day, rumors began to reach his family's lands about a threat dawning from the south. Darkspawn were amassing near Ostagar, and King Cailan called for an army...and of course the Grey Wardens. The young man agreed to an arrangement by his elder sibling and father for them to march to war while he stayed behind and administrated the lands, wanting no part in the so-called 'glory' and 'honor' that others spoke of about war. But soon one of the previous Commanders Of The Grey arrived at their castle, and requested one of the Castle's inhabitants become a Grey Warden. The young man was capable of such, but he had even less a desire to join the fabled order than he did to participate in the coming battle. So with respect, he directed Warden-Commander Duncan to one of the knights instead, and later retired to his quarters on the night that his family's forces would march to war. But as he slept, men stormed the castle. A lesser noble had betrayed his family's trust and took advantage of their army's departure in order to usurp them and claim their titles for himself. The young noble woke to the sound of murder, and desperately fought his way through the horde of invaders attempting to find his family. And at the end of their trail, he found his father fatally wounded and his mother refusing to leave his side. It is there he also once again found the Warden-Commander, and a choice was offered to him: either to fight by his parents' side as the bulk of the betrayer's forces broke through the main gate, or follow Duncan and become a Grey Warden. Little can compare to the combination of both rage and sorrow he felt at that moment, the compulsion he had to grab a sword and kill as many as he could until his arms went numb. But he knew what he had to do; he went to Ostagar, he went through the Joining, and did not look back until the Darkspawn retreated."

Cousland began to move forward, walking down the stairs and reaching eye level with everyone else:

"That man united the banns and freeholders, raised armies from all corners of the kingdom, lead them to victory, drove his blade through the Archdemon, and became the Hero of Ferelden. That man was me. Like you, I faced the choice of my family's end and the duty before me. And I had no idea that I'd be the deciding factor in the Blight. I didn't even know there was going to be a Blight. I remember as I stood there, my father dying, my mother frantic, my brother missing, and being haunted by the fact that I might become the last of the Couslands. But that choice seems like it happened in another lifetime, to someone else."

The Hero of Ferelden was now an arm's length away from her, holding an unblinking stare as he made a final statement.

"Bethany Hawke, your actions had no ill intent. But their consequences are unmistakable, and thus the intent does not mitigate my judgement. Your actions have provoked two of the highest institutions in Thedas and have placed the Order's diplomatic position as a whole in jeopardy. And it is for that reason, that I hereby condemn you to death by hanging. May the Maker have mercy on your soul."

He turned from her and became silent. No one said anything; not Varel, not from the Wardens, not even from the accused herself. Not one word. The only thing noise following him was Bethany Hawke being lead away back to her cell, the shuffling of the crowd of his subordinates trying to fit through the set of doors and get back to their duties. The Warden-Commander stood in the same spot for a while, holding a zoned-out stare and not comprehending time. Eventually, he heard a pair of light footsteps from behind him, and the same voice he heard that morning addressed him once more:

"Commander, are you alright?"

Cousland turned towards his assistant and responded:

"I'm fine, just...tired. Any reason you asked?"

"For one, you've been standing in that spot for half an hour."

"I'm just thinking. Of the prisoner and such."

"And such?"

"Just a little bit of the 'what if?' regret. I get it a lot, don't worry."

"If you don't mind me saying, you didn't seem to worried during the trial."

"You mean the entire serious thing? That's just tradition, it's...stupid, I know. But some things are so meaningless yet important that you might as well not change them. Mind you, in a perfect world where I had it my way, I would've just pardoned her and not have done the entire 'I am the Great Warden-Commander and I have a stick up my ass' act, but that's just the way things work."

"But Ser, as Commander of The Grey you had the ultimate authority in that trial. You have the ability to pardon her."

"Well that's the way it's supposed to be, but it isn't. If I did that; I'd encourage Grey Wardens to desert, The First Warden would try to override my ruling, and The Chantry would do everything they could to get us expelled from Ferelden again. So I had to pick the lesser evil and order the relatively-innocent woman to be executed."

"Than you did what you had to."

"That doesn't make it any more conscientious, but thanks."

"I would've done the same thing if I were in your position, Ser."

"You would?"

Cousland thought back to their conversation before the trial, remembering the words he spoke to her: _"I see, and what do you think of desertion of The Grey Wardens? What would you do if you became Commander of The Grey?" _He than continued before she could reply:

"Remember when I asked you what you would do if you were Commander of The Grey?"

"Yes, Ser."

"Well I happen to have another piece of advice on becoming the Warden-Commander of Ferelden."

"What is it?"

"Don't."

Cousland turned and departed for the door, leaving the Junior Warden to ponder in the same place he had. It had been a long day, and he knew from experience that it would never get any easier.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes: <strong>Don't know why, but that training part felt like a particularly strange piece to write. Anyway, there's two more planned chapters for the prologue. The Templar attack that I described in the summary shall happen in the next, and the next chapter after that will hopefully be the last of the prologue. Anyway, here's some more bullet points explaining things:

*Why does The Warden put Anders in such a negative light? Well, it's because of his point of view. Anders had personally betrayed The Warden's trust, and beyond that his actions in Kirkwall further violate the Grey Warden's neutrality. By the time of the climax of Hawke's story, The Warden-Commander has become a hardened figure (and a bit of a prick, to be honest), and he puts his duty to the Grey Wardens beyond everything else in his life. Anders is the polar opposite as he wants to be free above all else. In other words, when Anders destroyed the Chantry he probably saw the words "Cousland Disapproves (-30)."

*Bethany's not going to die. In case you forgot, I put "Male CouslandXBethany" in the summary. Nothing's changed in that regard.

*Fun Fact: The quote "But that choice seems like it happened in another lifetime, to someone else" is remarkably similar to something a certain character said in DA:O (and I put in in there because Cousland shares some aspects with said character, ironically enough).


	3. Prologue, Part Three

**Author's Notes:** Hey everyone, just a few things:

*One of the reviewers PMed me and asked about further details of The Warden in this story. I PMed them back and promised I'd make a full character description if people cared. I'm going to go ahead and assume you do, and put one on my profile page. If you're interested, go ahead and click my name towards the top of the page and scroll down (or just look down, seeing as how my profile page is more or less barren) to where it says "Requested Character Description."

_*_As I mentioned before, this is the chapter that contains the Templar attack I mentioned in the summary._  
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_*_I noticed someone in a review mentioned that the Grey Wardens would know the story that The Warden told during the trial last chapter (i.e. the one that more-or-less repeats what happened during the Human Noble Origin). Well, yes, they would. But he was less revealing it and more reiterating it so he could reveal a point (about how he had to make a sacrifice that Bethany wouldn't).

Thanks again to everyone who took the time to review. Especially those of you who have actually pointed things out in my story. If I were reviewing, I would've just typed something along the lines of "Cool Story, Bro." Or just not type a review at all. Luckily a lot of you are less lazy than I am._  
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* * *

><p><em>Hundreds of trees. Thousands of trees. Perhaps millions. It's all he could see, and endless range of trees that extended in all directions. The Korcari Wilds, perhaps? It feels that way, but he doesn't recognize any landmarks or animal life indigenous to the Wilds.<em>

_The sun's rays are suddenly invisible. A shadow is cast across the forest, as if a large cloud overhead were passing by. But it wasn't that. It was never a cloud, never some coincidental act of nature; it was always the phantom of his worst foe._

_His world is shifted to the source of the shadow: The Archdemon. The pinnacle of his life. The bane of his past. He killed it, he watched it die. But while he took the Archdemon away from the world, he could never purge it from his soul._

_It began to descend, it was charging right for him. He reached for his sword, he realized he didn't have one. He tried raise his shield, but his arm felt broken. He tried to move his feet, but it seemed as if they were rooted in the ground._

_The Archdemon was in front of him now, its mouth extended open, its razor-sharp teeth ready to take revenge. And he couldn't do anything. He couldn't fight, he couldn't retreat, he couldn't even scream if he wanted to. All he could do was watch as it impacted him, and the dark of death consumed his vision. _

_He felt like he was falling, falling in some nameless pitch-black pit, where his eyes were forcibly shut and he could never hit the ground. Just falling..._

_Falling..._

_Falling..._

Cousland woke up to the sound of his own panted breathing. He felt his heart rapidly beating, as if it were trying to furiously pound its way out of his chest. His vision was blurred, and he had a lingering sensation that he was still falling despite having woken up. Sweat covered his body and his limbs felt paralyzed to his bed.

The Warden began to wrest control back to his body, managing to use his arms to push himself up from his lying position and wearily shake his head. The earlier blur in his eyes eroded, revealing the shape and furnishings of his quarters.

For all of his accomplishments and status, The Warden-Commander's personal room was exceptionally barren. A single full-size bed, a desk in the corner, a cabinet attached to a wall, and a single mounted candle (currently unlit).

Cousland began to lean forward, having regained full consciousness and control of his body. He planted both his hands on his forehead, slowly moving them down his face and massaging his eyes. He grunted something incomprehensible; and let out a deep, masculine sigh. It was probably past midnight, a few hours before dawn. A new morning would soon start, and it wouldn't wait for his insomnia.

"_Just another day on the job._"

...

The Warden was walking on top of his stronghold's outer wall, dressed in simple twine-colored burlap clothes and without weapons or armor. Night had blackened the colors of Vigil's Keep and its surroundings, limiting the Warden-Commander's true visibility to the areas on the wall that were brightened from lit torches attached to the structure. They revealed the figures of several Knights of the Silver Order, rigidly stone-faced and facing out towards the lands surrounding the Keep with dragonthorn bows in their hands, constantly vigilant of any force that may emerge to threaten The Ferelden Wardens.

They said nothing as he passed by, just as they were instructed. Knights of the Silver Order lived and trained alongside the Grey Wardens, and though they tended to have far lesser natural talents than his Grey Wardens, they were almost just as disciplined. The Knights of The Silver Order demanded a 24/7 lifestyle devoted to The Vigil and The Grey Wardens. The typical day of one could be summarized as "Wake up, duties, five-minute lunch, duties, dinner in the barracks, duties, go to sleep." And yet, each year The Warden-Commander received hundreds of requests of aspiring young men and women to join. Serving under his command had a certain appeal to one's personal honor, and many would be humbled to do so. However, it also had a more practical side to it. Being granted Knighthood under Ferelden's Hero carried a certain prestige to it, and Knights on leave from the fortress would often find, particularly in the Arling of Amaranthine and the City of Denerim, that they'd suddenly find themselves at the social events of Teyrns and Arls, their meals would be paid by others, and others would address them as "Ser." And whenever they brought it up in conversation, the listener would suddenly drop their intended topics and say something along the lines of: "Really? At Vigil's Keep? What do you do there? Do you know the Hero of Ferelden? What's he like?" with a sudden enthrallment. Of course at their core they all became Knights to serve, or at least listed it as a reason more important than respect; but like a Doctor that becomes such to save lives, they'll quickly find that there are additional perks that came along.

Eventually, The Warden-Commander reached the front of the wall, right on top of the gate where he had met Tavish yesterday. Forward from there lie the long, winding road to Denerim, the same one he once walked down with Mhairi once named Warden-Commander in order to assume command of The Keep and begin his new life. And on that spot above the gate, he saw two other figures, not of knights, but two men that he knew would fight to their dying breath for him, and would then get up and try to give even more. A tall man, dressed in blackblade armor, leaning over the wall's stone edge and looking out towards the road with a manner of seriousness and slight gloom. Next to him stood the figure of a short, stout, and peculiar-smelling dwarf, still clad in the Legion of The Dead Armor from yesterday and looking in the same direction as the aforementioned man. They were Nathaniel and Oghren, his two Ferelden Warden-Lieutenants, the two men whom he trusted to command divisions of his forces and personally train and oversee all the Grey Wardens he couldn't reach in one day.

Oghren spoke first as Cousland approached them: "Couldn't sleep either, huh?" He wasn't laughing or drunk or angry, for a rare moment it seemed he were level-headed and contemplating as he gazed out towards the road that they all walked down when first reaching Vigil's Keep, when they first began their new lives.

Cousland joined them and placed two hands on stone blocks as he leaned over and began to look upon the same road, responding once he did:

"The Archdemon again."

Nathaniel spoke next:

"I had a dream about it as well. It was distant, somewhere in the sky, but it was..."

Howe shook his head and didn't finish his sentence.

"_Distant?_" Cousland thought as a flashback of his dream entered his mind: a mental picture of the Archdemon right in front of him with it's jaw wide open. He replied to Howe:

"Distant? Funny, in my dreams he's always **really** close."

"You don't think it's another-"

"I've been having these dreams for years. If there was really another Blight, they would've taken two nations by now. Besides, it's always flying above the Korcari Wilds, we could be sensing Darkspawn with memories of the Fifth Blight."

"Not the most reassuring argument."

"It's been a long time since the Fourth Blight, no one really still knows what The Grey Wardens were sensing 400 years ago after Garahel's time. All I know is that a Sixth Blight happening this soon would be nigh impossible, and we don't have any real evidence to support it. We could just be having regular bad dreams, though I doubt that as well."

"You're doubting a lot, I take it?"

"Back when I was a recruit a lot of people thought that a Fifth Blight was impossible because of how long it had been since the Fourth. I'm not going to be just as foolish as they were by saying there won't be a Sixth because this time it hasn't been long enough, but I haven't been given reason to think the exact opposite either. So yes, I'm doubting any sort of explanation I can give when it comes to dreaming about the Archdemon again, Sixth Blight included."

Oghren grunted, returning to his typical coarse tone: "I don't care why the sod it wants to be in my head, I just want to shut it up already."

Nathaniel turned his head towards Cousland: "That's another issue, it...speaks."

Cousland turned back to Nathaniel and replied: "Yeah, you get used to that over time. I even understand it a little. I translate some of the phrases from my first dreams occasionally when I have the time."

"What was it saying?"

"Back then? Just telling the Darkspawn to march faster and kill everything. Nothing too new or interesting."

"I mean from our dreams."

"That's a little harder. From what I understand, it's saying something about some great force 'coming back' and 'rising.' There's a lot of words I don't know yet, and the other Warden-Commanders I've met don't know either."

"Hm."

"'Hm' indeed."

There was nothing but silence then. Not exactly a comfortable silence, but certainly not an awkward one. It was more an agreed one of uncertainty, the combined appreciation of a moment of calm that contrasted with their darker times. It could've continued until the sun rose and it was time for them to lead the Wardens of Ferelden, but instead it was interrupted as Oghren spoke:

"I gotta get going, sodding underlings aren't gonna outdrink themselves, eheheh."

Cousland angled his head down towards Oghren and replied:

"You get on that then. Just make sure you're at least half-sober come morning fitness training."

"Eh, but I don't even do any of those. I just get to yell at the tall ones while they run around me."

"Yes, but you're supposed to yell coherent and derogatory things at them so they're in a stressed environment, like 'maggots' or 'worthless', not 'Thunderhumping Nug Lovers.'

"And that's the worst kind of 'em all..."

"Ok, fine, quarter-sober then. As long as you're not falling to the ground yelling 'Asschabs!' than I'll live."

"Aye, you'll make a warrior out of me yet, Commander. See ya then."

Oghren walked away towards his right, leaving through the same direction The Warden had entered. Once out of earshot he heard Nathaniel whisper towards his ear:

"He isn't really going to be drunk this morning, is he?"

"No, not really. He may act like he'll be, but I know Oghren well enough when he's just acting. Chances are he'll get back to the barracks, raise a mug to impress his Wardens, and then act like he's passing out so he can get some sleep. He isn't going to be just quarter-sober tomorrow, or even just half-sober: he's going to be as clean as an Orlesian Noble come tomorrow."

"I don't think I'll ever understand him."

"Like I've told you before, it's because acting that way is what's normal for him, and he knows deep down that he has something important to do."

"I don't think I'll ever understand that either."

"Then go ahead and be broody, I like the collection of dysfunctional personalities we have so far anyway. Adds flavor."

"How clever."

Nathaniel had said the last phrase sarcastically, but his voice lacked any spite or even genuine annoyance like it would six years ago; at this point he had come to accept The Commander's occasional witty remarks, perhaps even enjoy them. Cousland responded:

"I'm no terrorist mage, but I try."

Cousland extended one of his arms over towards Howe, casually giving him a single pat on the back and continuing:

"Here, I'll take the reins for the rest of the night. Go ahead and get some sleep my friend."

Nathaniel Howe began to walk in the same direct Oghren did, but just five steps into leaving, he stopped, the lack of his footstep noise becoming apparent to The Warden-Commander, who was staring at the road once more. He didn't say anything, so Cousland took the initiative and spoke:

"Do you have something you want to say to me?"

He remained silent for seconds more, before saying:

"The South Barracks, some of the Wardens have gathered and are talking about what has transpired today. They could use some motivation."

"Are you telling me to go to the Barracks and give a speech?"

"No, I just said that you could."

Nathaniel continued to walk in the same direction Oghren. Cousland waited a few minutes before he himself went in the same direction his Lieutenants did, taking Howe's advice of going to the barracks to help boost morale, a thought passing through his mind as he made his way there:

"_So I have Oghren that won't admit that he actually performs the duties I assign him, and Nathaniel that won't admit that he just wants to help me. Is it really that conventional to be unconventional around here?_"

...

The barracks were crowded, the type of crowded that if someone entered the room with two arms straight up in the air, they wouldn't have enough space to put them down. The smell of ale and evaporated sweat filled the air. The super-majority of figures in the room were male, though some of of the opposite sex had mixed in the crowd with the same sense of rough brotherly camaraderie that typically developed between male soldiers. The noises of the room consisted of lively mix of laughter, loud conversation, and of course some shouting at the main event.

Cut to the center of the room, where the shouting was directed and the sole exception of the crowded rule. The Wardens had formed a circle around a human male and elf male that stood in the center, both of them bare-chested and barefoot and without any armor. The human was larger, standing at around 6'3" (191 cm) and carried a hulking muscled frame, almost resembling a Qunari. The elf was much smaller, around 5'7" (170 cm) and was gifted with more a rouge's finesse than a warrior's brute strength. Both had their fists raised and binarily circled each other, staring the other down and trying to make small movements to psyche the other out, analyzing for weaknesses, openings, opportunities...

The elf struck first, throwing a lightning-fast jab towards the chest of the human. The human grabbed his arm mid-punch and used his freehand to counter with an uppercut. The elf's feet were lifted from the ground as it connected with his chin, the taste of blood filling his jaw as his lower and upper sets of teeth violently clashed together. He fell backwards, the back of his head colliding against the ground with a loud "klunk." The victorious Grey Warden broadened his chest and extended both his arms horizontally in the air, shouting with a slightly smug confidence:

"Any other takers?"

A voice behind him plainly answered:

"Right here."

"Alright, but don't say I didn't-"

He stopped mid-speech and the rest of the crowd fell silent as he turned and saw the voice's source was none other than the Commander Of The Grey himself. An expression of horror had taken his face, too shocked to even say "Oh shit!"

The Warden-Commander stepped forward between the two opponents of the circle, and continued with a rhetorical question:

"What was that offer about again?"

"Commander, I-"

The Hero Of Ferelden's fist shot out with unrivaled speed and power, burying itself deep inside his abdominal muscles. A combination of blood and saliva sprayed from the victim's mouth, and he collapsed to the ground as if The Warden had magically hit an "off" switch somewhere inside his body. The Warden-Commander looked down at him as he began to curl up from the pain around his stomach. The Warden-Commander turned towards the now obedient group of assembled Grey Warden, speaking to them as the struck man writhed in pain.

"Hazing. It's none of your duty to break in the newer members of the order, that duty-"

The Warden-Commander placed a foot on top of the elven warden, whom was just beginning to attempt to rise from the ground himself.

"-is mine."

Cousland's eyes darted down towards the Elf, the latter still dazed from the hit he had received from the now-immobilized human. The Warden-Commander switched from addressing the crowd to him alone:

"That is not how you were trained to attack a larger opponent, Warden."

"But-"

"Drop and give me thirty."

"Yes, Ser."

The elf flipped himself over on his stomach and returned back to touching the ground, using his upper body strength to rise and lower himself from the ground in the standard military push-up fashion. He did the first few with ease, but upon trying to repeat the motion a fifth time, found an unbearable weight suddenly hit him. The Warden-Commander had planted his foot between his shoulders, and then leaned on his knee to make sure that **all **of his weight was crushing the subordinate below. He collapsed to the ground, and heard his superior's voice directed at him once more:

"I didn't count thirty push-ups, Warden."

The elf didn't say anything back, he just gritted his teeth and began to use all of his strength to fight against the force of the added weight, slowly managing to rise as high as his arms could push, and then controllably descend back towards the ground.

"_Now to just do that twenty-four more times without dying..._"

The Warden-Commander, while still standing on the elf below, shifted his focus back to the crowd, and begun an uninterrupted speech:

"Now, listen, I came down here because of what has happened today, and I know that all of you know what I'm talking about. Earlier last evening, you stood silently as I ordered one of our own to death. And I have heard of whispers, rumors of two more of our kind falling to darkspawn in the Deep Roads. And it is my responsibility as your Commander to inform you that those rumors should be stopped immediately, because in a discussion with Warden-Lieutenant Howe, we believe it is exceptionally unlikely that both the Junior Warden and Warden-Recruit have not been Killed In Action during the Joining Preparation. And as most of you know, this is the first time casualties have occurred in the Deep Road for Ferelden's Grey Wardens since the very day we began using them for The Joining half a decade ago. It gives me no pleasure to remind you of these events, and the question of if this is all worth it has haunted me for all of my years as your Warden-Commander. And often I find myself questioning if I would my own end would be mourned this way if I had fallen, if one day during a personal mission to the Deep Roads, that I may be surrounded by hordes of Darkspawn, and one you would take my place. I don't know the answer, because telling all of you to remember me when the day comes that I am gone is one order I cannot give. So instead, let me tell you that if I were in their shoes; if I were on trial, if I had fallen in battle, if I had one day gone missing when the world needed me; that I would want you to move on. To not forget, but move on. For there is no such thing as simple death in The Grey Wardens. All of it has meaning, for both those brave men, and for the women that I had condemned earlier. It is all for the sake of the greater good. As said by the Grey Wardens before us, and the Wardens before them, and the Wardens whom first drank of Darkspawn Blood: In peace, vigilance."

The crowd of Grey Wardens spoke the next part in unison: "In war, victory."

The Warden-Commander spoke the next part:

"And in death..."

Cousland struggled for a bit, a feeling in his throat felt had built up, trying to prevent him from saying the last word. The word that had marked the lives of the three lost today, that had marked the lives of all the Wardens had lost, and that had marked his very own; from that day when Arl Howe's troops stormed the castle, to this day, to this moment, to his dying breath twenty years from now when The Calling had finally consumed his humanity. The word that he struggled to barely say to end his speech:

"...Sacrifice."

The Hero Of Ferelden looked towards the ground, and made a sharp nasal inhale, closing his eyes and imagining the faces of all he had failed to protect over the years. His family, his comrades, the inhabitants of The City of Amaranthine as he burned it to the ground. The list would only get longer. He remembered the words Bethany had spoke at the trial:

_"My brother was...killed by darkspawn. My mother...there was a blood mage that...I don't even know. And my sister...the Templars..."_

He imagined he was back at the trial, this time The Wardens were not in the room. He didn't have to care about consequences of his decisions or the weight of his words, and he spoke owe differently this time:

"_Had I been in your place, I would've done the same thing._"

Cousland opened his eyes and exhaled, returning to reality. He removed his foot from the Elven Warden, who was still trying to do thirty impossibly weighted push-ups, and extended his arm downward, offering his hand to help pull him up. The junior Warden grabbed it and was pulled back to his feet, gasping for air and moving back towards the crowd.

The Warden-Commander realized that he had been silent during his imagination's dominance, and uttered a gruff "That is all" before making his way towards the Barracks' door at a far end of the room, the crowd parting and making a comfortable amount of space for him as he did.

...

Cousland stepped back out to the cold nighttime air, the door to the barracks shutting behind him as he did. The building The Warden had just left was the South Barracks, a single-story building located in the courtyard located in front of Vigil's Keep's main building. He looked towards the sky, it was still dark, the sun wouldn't begin to rise for another hour or so.

The door opened again. The Warden-Commander turned to see a young male Grey Warden, albeit with an apparently unrecognizable face due to the poor lighting of night, wearing inscribed leather light armor and of a short stature.

"Ser, a group of Wardens says there's a situation at the gate."

"What kind of situation?"

The young Warden pointed over his Commander's shoulder: "Look for yourself."

The Warden-Commander's body began to turn, but stopped immediately after. A dormant, honed sense of the Warden-Commander suddenly clicked: He didn't recognize this man, and he was directing him to turn around. Cousland returned to looking at the subordinate, and inquired:

"Are you a Grey Warden?"

"Yes, Ser."

The Warden-Commander casually put a hand in one of his pockets and asked:

"Really? Which day was your Joining?"

"To be honest, I don't really remember."

In a swift and blurred motion, Cousland had removed his hand from his pocket and darted it towards his subordinate. The young Warden blinked, his eyes unable to comprehend the alacrity of what had just happened. He looked down, and saw that a knife was in The Warden-Commander's hand, its tip resting inside his leather armor at a point where it covered the skin above his heart. If pushed in any more, it would pierce his skin and move forward through an opening between two rib bones to end his life. He heard The Hero of Ferelden speak as if he were simply responding to him:

"You don't remember the day your life changed?"

"I-"

"You are not a Grey Warden. I know all of them by heart. I thought I couldn't recognize you because of the night, but I think my gut isn't right in this case. And the way you're approaching me when I'm seemingly unarmed and at a point where there's no one else to see me, you probably had to rush out of the barracks so you wouldn't miss this opportunity to be able to stab me in the back and get away with no witnesses. All you needed me to do was to turn around and direct my trained awareness to another area."

Cousland heard a click behind him. The sound of a crossbow having been prepped to be shot and aimed at his skull. A low voice followed:

"Drop it."

Cousland, with casual defiance, quipped:

"That's the noise of a yew crossbow, standard single-shot. Couldn't help but notice that it creaks a little when you hold it like that, that's an older design. Alistair upgraded the Ferelden Army to Whitewood four years ago. Only the Chantry keeps those in storage...Templars. The Chantry always reuses their ranged equipment after all."

"At this range it can still take your head clean off."

Cousland arched his back and leaned towards the Templar behind him, moving his head closer to the crossbow until it actually touched the edge slightly, as if trying to aid in his own execution.

"You're right, it can. But crossbows are noisy, and distinct. That's why you tried to get me with a knife instead of just shooting me as soon as I came out of the building. And if your friend here did that, you could've walked away with no problems. But if you shoot a single bolt, my Wardens will rush out the barracks and see their Warden-Commander dead, and you standing next to him. You know what they'd do about me if I died? They'd do what I've told them to do: they'd move on. They wouldn't forget, but they'd move on. After all, I've already done my part. There's no more Archdemons for me to kill, no civil war for me to settle. They'd promote one of my Lieutenants, and we'd still one of the strongest forces of Ferelden. But you...they wouldn't forget. I'd reflexively kill your friend here, leaving you the only one left out here to be discovered. The Wardens would swarm you, with more ferocity than either of us could imagine. They'd take it slow with you. Tie you up, give everyone a turn with a knife until you've stopped breathing - and than do more. They'd rip you apart piece by piece, every bit of flesh, every single bone; all beyond recognition. And five hundred years from now when someone's writing about history, they'd talk about you, the great Ferelden betrayer, whose skull rests on top of Vigil's Keep as a savage trophy to that day."

The Warden-Commander felt the crossbow begin to vibrate against the back of his head, he could tell the Templar holding the crossbow was shuddering from nerves.

"_He's afraid. I just need to make sure his crossbow's lined directly at the back of my head while I'm looking at the other guy, and..._"

Cousland made a quick full-body motion to his right, jerking his head out of the way from the weapon that was aimed at him. The Templar Crossbowman, shaken after the mental occupation of The Warden's words; reacted both too slowly and too quickly, shooting too slowly for his bolt to hit Cousland, but too quickly for his cohort to dodge. The bolt intended for The Warden buried itself right between the Warden Imposter's eyes, a fatal shot. The Templar recoiled from shock, and then felt a sharp pain in his chest, looking down to see The Warden-Commander's knife bloodily lodged below his throat, his world going black as Cousland spoke the last words he ever heard:

"Or history can forget you right here, right now."

The door from the barracks swung open, The Grey Wardens that The Warden-Commander had spoken to earlier flooded out to the sight of an unarmed Hero Of Ferelden standing next to two deceased opponents: one a impersonating a Grey Warden; the other a fully armored Templar, just as Cousland had predicted. The Commander of The Grey, unshaken, spoke sarcastically:

"Thanks 'team,' I love it when you all leave me to take on fully armed assassins while I'm off-duty. Never thought I did enough in my sixteen hour workday anyway."

Before the discernment and following embarrassment could fully set in with the Wardens, the sound of a crossbow bolt being fired was again heard, this time distant. Heads turned towards the apparent source: the Keep's outer wall, near the spot Cousland and had been standing on earlier with his co-leaders. It had come from outside the Keep's walls, from a foreign force. Knights of the Silver Order saw what The Wardens couldn't from their position, and confirmed a suspicion and fear as one of them shouted:

"We're under attack!"

Their world shifted at that point: The thunderous rumble of an army charging had arisen with no warning, drowning out lesser noises and all dialogue that didn't consist of shouting. A constant rain of arrows were falling upon their comrades on the wall. Knights of The Silver Order were scrambling into their drilled fighting positions and returning fire. It was something that hadn't happened in years: an attack on The Keep itself. Cousland's face became one of controlled and authoritative anger; his eyebrows angled, brow furrowed, and his eyes locked in a serious, unblinking gaze. Words erupted from his mouth to form a command:

"Gear up, double-time! All of you form up in front of that gate, and if any one of you aren't there by sixty seconds like we've practiced-"

The Warden-Commander pointed to the corpses of the men he just killed:

"-then I swear to the Maker I'll be dumping your bodies in the same ditch as these two!"

His words were met with multiple hastily done sayings of "Yes, Ser!" as Wardens flooded back inside to retrieve their weapon and arms. Before The Warden-Commander could do so himself, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and looked behind himself and saw the sight of his Assistant injured with a limp in her right leg and fresh stab in her left arm, with frantic eyes and gasping between each phrase as she spoke:

"Ser, I- Howe...the way here...and, and..."

She lost her stance and began to fall towards the ground. Cousland caught her mid-fall and spoke softer words:

"Slow down, you're injured."

The Warden-Commander turned back to the crowd of Wardens and shouted:

"I need a healer here Ay-Sap!"

Three different Warden Mages broke off the main horde of Wardens at their Commander's request. Cousland pointed at a single one and than curled his index finger for them to help. Cousland released his assistant to the pointed-at mage's arms, who than laid her against the wall of the South Barracks as gently as he could amidst the chaos of Grey Wardens stormed from the building to get in formation, and the intensifying of the archery battle between the unknown forces outside and the knights on top of the wall. He placed two hands over her abdomen, and green light emitted from his hands as he attempted to diagnose and fix any physical problems.

Cousland descended towards the ground, bending on one knee and reaching eye level with his assistant. She had a hazed look upon her, her eyes wandering, her mouth freely agape; and weak, passive breathing despite her obvious pain. Cousland, recognizing this as a familiar sign of a more subtle injury, spoke to the Warden Healer:

"Is there poison in her system?"

"Yes, Ser."

"How bad is it?"

"Bad."

"Is she going to make it?"

The Warden Healer's face crumpled and became solemn. He replied not only with the answer to the question, but the answer to the question The Warden-Commander would've asked next:

"She's got two minutes before her heart stops, give or take a few seconds. All the healing in the world can't stop that."

Cousland's face remained commanding and unreadable as if he were unaffected. He stared at his dying subordinate, the rest of his body unmoving as he raised one arm and pointed towards the group of now-assembled Grey Wardens in front of the gate and spoke to the Healer:

"Join the rest of your division."

"Yes, Ser."

The Healer left as instructed, and the Warden-Commander leaned closer to his assistant, as to be able to speak at a normal, coherent volume and his voice not be lost amidst the chaos of fighting as he spoke:

"I know you're in a lot of pain right now, but I need you to stay awake and tell me what happened to you."

The Junior Warden slowly made vocal motions to speak, her speech slurring:

"S-s...serrrr I-"

"Don't bother with the respectful parts, you've earned the right to speak without it."

"I-I wass sennnt here...by...Howe. Messsagge...a warning..."

"A warning? About what?"

His assistant opened her mouth to speak, but stumbled and no noise came. She gritted her teeth and took as deep a breath as her failing muscles would allow, and mustered the willpower to speak coherently:

"Templars...assassins. They're pinning down the Wardens...in the North Barracks. Howe tried to break out...but...traps. They have an entire system of traps in front of the exit. C-c-couldn't send more than two Wardens out at a time without setting them off...they'd pick off the two Wardens easily if we did only send two at a time. Howe tried to disarm the traps...but they would just shoot at him and force him to stop. He said he'd lose more than thirty Wardens if we tried to force our way out...so we decided it was best if one of us tried to run through...avoid the traps...and relay a message. I...volunteered."

An agonized expression came to the Junior Warden's face as she felt a sharp pain in her chest. She arched forward and violently coughed, traces of blood falling from her mouth as she did. She reflexively tried to raise her arm to cover her face, but her strength was too weak to even do that. She looked at The Warden-Commander, and said with a barely audible voice:

"Commander...am I going to die?"

Cousland placed a hand on her shoulder:

"I am sorry."

"It was an...honor, to serve under you...Ser. I don't...re...regret...any of...it..."

She closed her eyes, her mouth stopped moving, The Warden-Commander felt her muscles lifelessly stop under her shoulder. Cousland bowed his head, silently lingering.

"_You don't regret anything? That makes one of us._"

Eventually, he reached towards her lower armor and grabbed a sheathed sword she had attached to her armor. He detached the sheath without withdrawing the sword, carrying it in one hand as he stood up and turned towards

The door to the South Barracks burst open. One Grey Warden, the last to leave the Barracks, was taking about twice as long as everyone else. Noticing The Commander of the Grey standing next to the barracks as he was leaving, he spoke with a stutter:

"Ser, I was just-"

Cousland, uninterested, interrupted him:

"Go tell the rest of your division that I won't be joining them, I have business in the Keep to attend to."

The Warden-Commander began to walk, not towards the division of Grey Wardens in front of the gate, but towards the main building of Vigil's Keep, where the North Barracks were located. He unsheathed the sword he was carrying, dropping the sheath and revealing a White Steel longsword with frost rune enchantments, sublimating ice constantly emitting from its blade. He moved forward without looking back at his soldiers, not concerned one bit that his Wardens might lose.

...

Panted breathing, sprinting footsteps against stone ground, eyes looking for an escape...somewhere...somewhere...

"_A door!_"

In a swift motion, he opened it, slipped inside the room, and closed it behind him, wasting no time to lock it. He observed his new surroundings: a small room no other exits...a dead end. No choice but to fight.

With shaky hands, he loaded his last bolt into his crossbow, aiming his weapon at the door, ready to make a point blank shot.

The sound of a foot impacting the wooden surface of the door came next, followed by the shattering of the wood to shards. They scattered throughout the air like an explosion's shrapnel, rendering his visibility useless. He bit his tongue, unsure of where to shoot, and out of reaction made a random shot hoping for the best...

The sound of a bolt impacting flesh. A good shot. He couldn't believe it. He was actually going to take down** him** with a random shot. He was going to live.

But it wasn't enough. Somehow, the poison wasn't working. The guaranteed one-shot one-kill poison wasn't killing. The figure that had been chasing approached. Closer. Closer.

He felt a hand at his throat. It lifted him in the air like he was as light as a feather. His esophagus caved in beneath the pressure of its fingers. Oxygen denied to him, he felt like his life was being drained by the second. His vision began to turn dark, he became disorientatingly light-headed, reality feeling absent. But then it threw him to the ground, headfirst hitting the stone ground and feeling pain putting reality back in him tenfold. He saw blood, a lot of it. He wasn't even sure where it came from. The foot of a man entered his vision, stepping on his pool of blood and placing itself inches from his eyes. He looked up; to the figure of the one stepping in his pool of blood, to the figure who had killed his Templar comrades with ease, to the figure who had chased him across the Keep, to figure who had taken a dose of lethal poison and was standing here unaffected, to the figure of the man known as the Hero of Ferelden.

"The coated substance on that crossbow bolt you shot me with, that's Concentrated Pride Demonic Poison. That's a tier-five poison, impressive. Should cause any target shot to slow down in three seconds, go numb and begin to faint in thirty seconds, and die in three minutes. Made from the hearts of mages who were possessed by not just a demon, but a pride demon. Rarest kind you can find."

The Warden-Commander looked at the Templar Assassin who had shot him with a crossbow, his jaw was cracked and he couldn't say a word back, so Cousland answered a question he knew the Templar wanted to ask:

"Too bad I'm immune to poison."

The Warden-Commander walked away back into full view of the Templar. The Templar could see a bleeding shoulder wound presumably from where he shot the Commander of the Grey, of which Cousland was apparently unconcerned with. Also peculiar was Cousland holding out one open hand in front of him, with the crossbow bolt that was shot at him resting in its palm (presumably having been plucked out of the wound). The Warden-Commander looked down at the bolt, pacing and speaking while he did:

"My assistant was limping from a crossbow shot to her right leg. I've killed twenty Templars here, but you're the only one that uses a poisoned crossbow. So I guess that narrows the suspect list down to you alone."

Cousland curled up his fingers and clenched the crossbow bolt in his hand, looking back in the Templar Assassin's eyes:

"That women you shot, she was a devout woman in the Chantry in her old life. She recited the Chant every day, and was a dutiful Guard to her province in the Freemarches. But her lord was not as devout, and one day the town guard was ordered to burn the local Chantry to the ground and murder the Revered Mother there because she spoke out against his decision to ally with blood mages. She approached her liege with respect and pleaded with him to revoke his command. Her lord refused, accused her of insubordination, and had her locked up in the dungeon. But he didn't know that the women he accused was once an orphan raised by a mercenary company that her deceased parents once served for before their deaths. The mercenaries were not a fit substitute for parents...they beat her, they abused her, they did things that no little girl should have to go through. And she grew up with a perspective of what it was like to feel true pain, to be able to get up after falling so far, to know the instinct of fighting for your life. So as a young adolescent, she traveled to the town of the aforementioned lord and tried to start over as a devout woman of the Chantry and a respectable guardswoman. But when her lord had made those orders, those instincts, that idea of fighting for your life, it all came back. She strangled the guard watching her cell, stormed the noble's house, killed his bodyguards, and put her sword to his heart. She stayed there until her fellow guards survived, and surrendered herself peacefully, claiming she did this only to protect the Chantry that had changed her life. But the son of the deceased lord wouldn't hear it, and ordered her to be hanged. And it was then that I arrived, currently on a trip to the Freemarches to inspect one of my outposts and having heard the intriguing story of the guard-turned-traitor. I visited her cell, heard her story, and found potential even she didn't see. When she spoke, she resented herself. She saw herself as some stupid girl that should've been left to die along with her parents, some stupid girl who tried as hard as she could to forget the abuse she suffered and not let the anger consume her, and failed. But I saw someone whom I could relate to, someone who had the same fighting spirit I did, someone who I could trust as a confidante and pass down the knowledge needed to lead the Wardens when I am gone from this world. I couldn't pardon her back to her old life, but I offered her a place at my side as a Grey Warden. And when she joined; she did everything she was supposed to, followed every guideline, met every deadline, reached every goal. She was worth ten of any templar, if not more. But now she's dead, because of you."

The Warden-Commander leaned down to the wounded Templar Assassin, gripping his lower jaw with his left hand and pulling down to force his mouth open. He than hovered his right hand above his open mouth, opening it to reveal the bolt he had been examining, suspending it right above the Templar's face with two fingers. The Templar's eyes went wide with fear as Cousland spoke his next words:

"But as I was saying, this really is a nice poison. Look, even though you shot me there's still enough trace material left coated on it-"

The Warden-Commander dropped the poisoned bolt down the Templar's throat.

"-to kill a man."

Cousland stood up, looking down at the Templar who struggled fruitlessly trying to eject the bolt with his broken jaw:

"Of course with that little amount it's going to be longer than three minutes. I'd say around thirty. Half an hour of long, painful, reflection. About your life, and the life you just took."

The Commander of the Grey turned from the assassin and walked out the door he had broken down earlier, saying a few last words to the future poison victim as he did:

"See you in the blackest depths of the Fade, Murderer."

...

The Warden-Commander exited the Keep to the sight of his forces victorious. The rumble of an advancing army was replaced by cheers, the front gate was still closed, the templars having never breached it. Spotting Nathaniel Howe amongst the relieved Grey Wardens, he approached him and asked:

"What's the situation?"

Nathaniel turned and opened his mouth to say something, but noticed bandages wrapped around The Commander's wound from the crossbow when he did, and answered his question with an unrelated question:

"Were you injured in the battle?"

"This? I can worry about this later. What's more important right now is that I get a full report."

"Right. I disarmed all of the traps and made my way here after you confronted the Templars watching the door. By then, the fighting was already over. From what I've gathered, there's no casualties from the battle. The Templars' bows couldn't pierce the silverite armor of the knights on the wall, and their siege equipment couldn't reach the front gate."

"And what of the situation at the North Barracks?"

"A few injured Grey Wardens, no deaths. Well, aside from..."

Nathaniel nodded his head towards the spot where The Commander's assistant had died, then continued:

"...her."

Cousland, seemingly unaffected, replied:

"Right, 'her.'"

"You have my sympathies. I know you placed a lot of trust in her."

"I'll live. That's more than can be said for others."

"You were not...intimate, with her, were you?"

"You mean if I had any romantic relations, or if I had bedded her? The answer's no to both of those. I don't get those kinds of feelings. Not anymore."

"Ah, sorry I asked."

"No harm done. Anyway, do you have an idea of why ostensibly Templar forces attacked us today?"

"Not one."

"Did you get a good look at the Templars them, did you?"

"They appeared different, slimmer armor and utilized daggers and bows instead of the traditional Templar equipment."

"Right, I thought the same. They looked like Templar-Hunters."

"Templar-Hunters? I haven't seen one since my days in the Freemarches. Why would they come here?"

"Templar-Hunters were used for more subtle operations the typical Templar couldn't handle with heavy armor and conventional training. They used to be here in Ferelden too, but they were abolished during the Blessed Age because of training and controversy over The Chantry having trained assassins at their command. This happened in most other nations as well, and over time most abandoned the training under pressure, but there's one Knight-Commander that trained Templar-Hunters in our lifetime, and her name was Meredith Stannard. When Knight-Commander Meredith lost control of Kirkwall and fell to the champion, there was a question of what to do with them. With most of the Mages from Kirkwall having either fled or been killed, the remaining Templar-Hunters were either forced into retirement or to transfer. And the majority of those who transferred did so to the closest possible Major Templar chapter...Denerim."

A mental image of Knight-Commander Tavish's face flashed in Cousland's mind. He continued:

"Nathaniel; who's the Knight-Commander of Denerim's Chantry? Who's the man that's more fanatical about apostates and maleficarum than the Divine herself? Who's the man that came here and demanded to see me in person? And then tried to convince me to release the blood mage? And when I refused, could've hypothetically gone back to his subordinates and coordinated an attack as plan B?"

"Would Knight-Commander Tavish actually attack us?"

"I'm not 100% sure, no. There's a few things that don't add up, like how he managed to get elite units inside the Fortress walls, which we've never had any security problems with before; yet the men for the actual frontal assault couldn't even bring down a single knight or warden. It could be that the frontal assault was a feint and he was hoping the Templar-Hunters would manage to take care of your division, and then be able to flank our forces at the gate. That'd be a fool's strategy, but than again, attacking us when we're allied with the crown and trained to fight much worse than simple mage-hunters isn't too smart either. Something tells me there's more to this, but for now we only have one lead, and that's Tavish. "

"Seems reasonable, though as you said, uncertain. I'd imagine the best place to start would be his Chantry in Denerim. If I leave now I can-"

"No, I need you to stay here and look over the Keep."

"Why?"

"Because I'm the one who's going to be knocking on the Grand Cleric's door and asking if Tavish is home."

"Commander, I know Tavish might have made this personal, but we don't even know if he is planning to ambush us if we leave, or if he has more forces in the forests that are going to renew the assault."

"I'll take Oghren with me just in case. And it's not because of revenge. It's because you don't have the credentials to get into the Royal Palace."

"What?"

"Like I said, if this entire assault was just as it appears to be, than it's a fool's attack. But if there's more to it...if I were to try to assassinate the Commander of the Grey, I'd be damn sure to try and kill his greatest ally, the King, while I'm at it. No one's broken into the Palace in years, but neither has anyone managed to get past the Knights here. And if someone has the resources and mettle to try and kill me, they aren't far off from reaching Alistair too."

"That's a stretch."

"Either way, it's a chance we can't afford to take. Any message you might try to send at the front gate will get lost in the thousands of letters and complaints he receives each day. If I show up, it'll take half an hour max for them to set a meeting."

"Than I can't stop you, can I? When will you depart?"

"Within the hour. Go ahead and find Oghren, tell him I need him ready to travel Ay-Sap. As for me, I need to take care of something quickly before I leave."

The Warden-Commander turned from his Lieutenant and began walking, making his way towards the dungeon.

...

Cousland entered the dark, single-room dungeon of Vigil's Keep. He had came to find Bethany Hawke, but in a strange way, she had found him. As soon as Cousland shut the door behind him, the sharpened end of a staff was at his throat. Someone had escaped from their cell. Cousland casually spoke:

"You know, I'm not unaware of the irony of the situation, but this isn't the first time I've had something pointed at me like that today. And it didn't end too well for the last person who tried it."

"Oh, I thought you were a Templar."

Bethany lowered her staff. Cousland, bemused, said:

"You do know I'm the one who sentenced you to death, right?"

"Yes, but..."

Bethany pointed to a Templar who was knocked out on the ground, apparently by some spell. Procedure between prisoners and their overseers seemed rather obsolete at this point.

"...one of them opened my cell door and pulled out their sword. I've always been a little jumpy around them."

"That doesn't change the fact that you had a chance to kill me a few seconds ago."

"Oh...that..."

Bethany looked at The Warden's feet, and then slowly moved her head up towards his face, inspecting the exact damage he'd be able to do even if mortally wounded and about to die. She said after a long while:

"...I'll take my chances with the rope."

"_She's really accepted her fate, hasn't she?_" Cousland thought, as a feeling of guilt knotted in his stomach. He took an equally long pause, and then said:

"Well, you can forget about the rope. I'm overruling my judgement in favor of a new trial."

Bethany's eyes widened as she responded with shock:

"Wait, what? Why?"

"Because it would be seen as rash by outside parties if I fully pardoned you, so I'm retrying you instead under the reasons of the recent Templar attack and thus the need for a witness from the Kirkwall Incident."

Bethany blinked, not really understanding half of what The Warden-Commander just said. Cousland, noticing this, continued:

"Miss Hawke...or, do you prefer Bethany?"

"Bethany. Hawke's my older sister's name and 'miss'...just doesn't sound right."

"Than Bethany, have you ever had someone killed because you had to? Don't answer that, because it's something better left unsaid, but think about it, and know that last night I made my decision because I had to. I had to because powers I couldn't control forced me into doing so. And know that right now, one of those powers decided to turn on me anyway, giving me the rare chance to do things the way I want to."

Bethany again stayed silent, not sure of what to make of all of it. Being locked up in a cell, being sentenced to death, hearing fighting outside your cell, some man trying to clandestinely kill you, and than finally the same person who sentenced you to death freeing you and than talking about things you don't know about was disorientating to say the least; one of those few things that fills up the human mind's thought process with so much bewilderment that a first opinion doesn't form. Cousland again continued:

"Point is, you're free. I just need you to follow me to someone in a city away from here testify about what your experience with the Templars in Kirkwall, the fact that one tried to kill you, and when I expose that Templars have attack Vigil's Keep, the idea that you helped a Mage rebellion will be seen much more sympathetically by the First Warden and the Divine. After that, I hold some makeshift trial for five minutes in some official-looking room, of which you're pardoned from and given the freedom to combat the Darkspawn without any superiors accompanying you. After that, you can go do whatever you like as long as you don't blow up any Chantries."

Bethany, finally starting to make sense of what he was saying, spoke:

"Aren't you afraid that I might turn on you? Not even a little?"

Cousland looked her back in the eye with unaltered confidence and said:

"Not one bit."

Bethany paused, contemplating exactly what was being presented to her, and than subsequently saying:

"Then I suppose I'm following you. But where, exactly, are we going?"

"To the only place where a Teyrn would bow down and a Bann would feel poor. We're going to Denerim."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes: <strong>Personally, I thought this chapter could've been better. It feels like it doesn't flow as well and isn't as refined as the last two. I'd like to go back and revise certain parts one day, maybe actually give the Warden-Commander's Assistant an actual name instead of just using titles, but seeing as how the protagonist doesn't have a name either and she was killed off three chapters in to the story, I don't think it's necessary. For now, this chapter serves its purpose, and advances this little story closer to the final part of this excessively long prologue.

Speaking of which, the next chapter will be the final of the prologue. It will reveal an antagonist that serves as one of the few able to go toe-to-toe with The Warden, show more of Cousland's darker side, and establish a broad idea of exactly what he's going to be facing. Following that, The Warden will begin going into unknown territory, places not shown in the DA games (well, aside from one particular City...), and the long-winded background explanations and flavor tangents will be replaced by actual physical descriptions of where they are (the Vigil's Keep is an actual location in Awakening, and doesn't need to be visually described, as opposed to say, a city in the Tevinter Imperium). Also notable is that following the Prologue, Bethany will start acting like her normal self again (she's shaken up by the whole "being sentenced to death" ordeal, and thus isn't trying to make normal conversation or anything) and I'll start developing the romance I put in the summary (which will take place over a long period of time considering The Warden tried to hang her, bit of a point of tension).

*If you don't know what the Blackblade Armor is, Google "Blackblade Armor Set" and pick the result from the Dragon Age Wiki. Technically it doesn't really exist in the DA universe because two pieces of it were cut from Awakening, but I always used it in my game (via console commands), so I decided to include it anyway.

*The part where The Warden-Commander talks about "understanding" the Archdemon is a reference to DA:O when Alistair says that some of the older Grey Wardens could understand parts of what the Archdemon was saying.

*That knife that The Warden was using against The Grey Warden Imposter is the same "Murder Knife" that was used in DA:O (if you don't know what I'm talking about, go to Youtube and look up any video that contains a cinematic death where The Warden kills someone following a conversation, I think in just about every one he pulls out a knife from no where and does some brutal execution).

*Why do I describe The Warden as appearing "unaffected" and "unreadable" when confronted about his assistant's death? Because he's shutting it off so he can stay in control and think logically. Deep down, he's genuinely remorseful that he couldn't do anything about the poison and incredibly pissed at the Templars who caused it. But he also knows that he has to keep his cool and not become either too soft or too rash so he can figure everything out and strike back.

*Why am I skipping over all the action (like how the battle went and how The Warden managed to kill off all the Templar assassins in the North barracks)? Because the details are relatively unimportant and as of now The Warden-Commander and his Grey Wardens haven't really been faced with an equal challenge. Describing how dominant The Warden is at everything is already starting to feel a little repetitive, and describing how great he was at killing unnamed henchmen #1,137-1,157 wouldn't help. Next chapter should remedy this a bit.

*Next chapter will have less spontaneous monologues. Honest.

*Fun Fact: If you hit ctrl+f and search "as if" (without quotation marks) and hit the next button until you reach the bottom, you'll find out that I used it 7 (8 if you include the one in this bullet point) times.

*Damn these are a lot of asterisks.


	4. Prologue, Part Four

**Author's Notes:** Once again, thanks for the reviews. GreatName is happy to see reviewers pleased. And he's also happy to see them disappointed. Point is he's narcissistic enough to be happy of anything you write, and will even write his Name in third person and say it is Great.

Quick Note: I'm expanding the prologue from four chapters to five. I originally had written these last two as one big chapter, but after a good 9,000 words in, I decided to split it into two chapters for organization. Also, I was planning on uploading chapters 4 and 5 at the same time, but after having some trouble trying to describe a fight scene in Part V, I decided to just go ahead and post Part IV while I try to think of ways to make myself sound less boring. I'm already about 3,000 words into Part V here, so hopefully the first of these three things will happen:

1. I'll finish this chapter soon. And by soon I mean only half as fast as all of you talented writers on this site.

2. It'll take me even longer to come up with another chapter as I fumble around with exactly how to write it.

3. FF dot net will come to hate me and shall delete me from the Internet. It also wishes you were illiterate, and that Dragon Age III should consist of eight hours of continuous romance scenes and about five seconds of a narrator telling us "And then demons killed everyone. The end."

Anyway, the last chapter may have been a personal disappointment (I've gone back and revised it a little, but, meh), but I'm hoping these next two will make up for it. Skyrim and SWTOR have slowed me down a lot (SWTOR=Awesome) but I can say that I've had more fun writing this chapter than the last three combined. It's kinda ridiculous in the middle, but now I'm just one more chapter away from finishing off the absurdly long prologue (and one that's taking me like, half a year to finish FFS).

* * *

><p>Meant to house Ferelden's Grand Cleric and her flock; Denerim's Chantry contrasted with the small, humble Chantries The Warden had encountered in towns like Lothering or Redcliffe and was more akin to the opulent Chantry in Kirkwall. Entering through the front doors once blocked by Templars during the Fifth Blight, The Warden had been greeted by the sight of an enclosure so unique and so vast, yet so quiet and empty. The ceiling was raised countless stories above his head, his steps against the stone ground echoing through the great volume created by its distant walls.<p>

While Denerim's Chantry was closer to Kirkwall's Chantry than its rural counterparts, it was at the same time a culture apart from the other Chantries which housed a Grand Cleric, due to the Fereldens' geographic isolation and that Denerim was in fact, where the Andrastian Religion held its roots. While Val Royeaux may have been the official site where the organized Chantry was declared and where The Grand Cathedral houses both The Divine and Knight-Vigilant, it does not change the fact that Andraste was born in Denerim, and found her first supporters amongst the Alamarri inhabiting old Ferelden.

As opposed to the velvet feel of rolled-out carpet that other Chantries used, the feet of Denerim's Citizens were greeted by stone, typically chilled from the lack of fire and during the winter would drain the warmth of one's body if not wearing heavy boots. It was a testament to the ways of old, to the Alamarri who once stood shoulder-to-shoulder listening to Andraste's commands with absolute devotion, no care of comfort, no care of getting sick, no care of anything but their leader and her wishes.

And as opposed to a staircase or upper level of some sort, Denerim's Chantry was completely situated at a single ground floor, every point being the same distance from the unreachable ceiling overhead. Of the ceiling, its base consisted of an aged dark oak, colored a rich dark brown and angled in a way to form the foundation of a gable roof. Slightly beneath the geometric edge of the ceiling, the line where the two planes of wood intersected and formed an angle, were additional planks of wood that extended from one side of the gable roof's underside to another, forming something of an incomplete triangular prism from one the ground view. From a architecturally practical viewpoint, these acted as additional support, to prevent The Chantry Roof from collapsing in on itself. However, they also allowed for a unique design, something one could only spot in a building dedicated to the Maker and Andraste. On top of the planks of wood also rested painstakingly arched lumber: additional oak wood attached to the top of the planks that was curved out to be rounded in the shape of a perfect semicircle. And on top of the wooden semicircle were additional pieces of lumber, straight pieces that extended outwards in straight lines angled to point towards the semicircle's center. Its shape could perhaps best be compared to a half a child's drawing of the sun on paper: a circle with lines coming out of it to represent the sun's rays. And that was precisely what the builders of Denerim's Chantry had strove for: the shape of half a sun, the shape of a sunrise, the shape of a sun rising above all else. In the current Age, the solar symbols of the Chantry are often displayed in full, such as on The Seekers' Armor or on the Priesthood's Amulets. But in the days of the builders of Denerim's Chantry, they were rebels, they were rising against the Tevinter Imperium and bringing light to the lives of thousands.

Shifting down, one would see the walls of the chantry. There were four of them, arranged in the standard cuboid style, and also consisting of the dark oak lumber. They were barren of any features, save simple windows from which the light of midday shone through, illuminating the ground upon which The Warden stood.

The stone floor extended for an inestimable distance. Looking forward, The Warden saw several rows of wooden benches (all empty) to his left and right, each separated by a single aisle aligned with the door he had entered through. The aisle reached across the room, on one end, the aforementioned door. And on the other end, the most prominent feature of the Chantry: a bronze statue of Andraste holding the sword of mercy, standing at approximately ten meters tall. The statue stood atop a two meter tall pedestal, which not only supported the massive bronze structure, but extended forward in front of the depiction of Andraste with two curved stone walls, both of which that descended as they moved away from the statue and arced towards each other to form what would appear to be a small perfect circle from a bird's-eye view.

However, from a ground view, the curved walls descended far enough for one to see inside the enclosed space in front of the statue. And looking to the enclosed space, one would see a rather peculiar sight. A soft-looking red silk covered the interior, albeit with a layer of dust upon it. Several lit candles lay upon it, all arranged to form the shape of another circle within the enclosed space.

Many prayed in front and around the aforementioned enclosure. The Grand Cleric would deliver sermons and give blessings next to it. Yet, no one ever dared touch or alter the materials within, save perhaps the lay sisters and brothers that lit and replaced the candles (though without any of their skin or clothes actually touching them). It was forbidden by the Chantry to disturb that spot, for it was where Andraste was born.

Today, there was but one man giving respect to her birthplace. A grey-haired Templar, unarmed and facing away from Cousland. He was kneeling before the statue of Andraste and the site of her birth, reciting parts of the Chant of Light in a quieted voice that Cousland could barely discern from his position across the room:

"O Maker, hear my cry:  
>Guide me through the blackest nights<br>Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked  
>Make me to rest in the warmest places."<p>

The Templar heard The Warden-Commander's voice name the category and section of his spoken verse:

"Canticle of Transfigurations, Verse 12:1"

The Warden began to walk forward, the sound of his boots impacting the hard stone floor echoing throughout the ample empty space of the Chantry, accompanied by a verse of his own:

"All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,  
>From the lowest slaves<br>To the highest kings.  
>Those who bring harm<br>Without provocation to the least of His children  
>Are hated and accursed by the Maker."<p>

The Templar immediately identified the verse in the manner The Warden did:

"Canticle of Transfigurations, Verse 1:3."

The Templar stood and turned to Cousland, revealing his face, the face of Knight-Commander Tavish:

"I was not expecting to see you again so soon, Warden-Commander"

"And I **really** wasn't expecting to see another Templar as soon as I did, Knight-Commander."

Cousland picked up the pace of his movement towards Tavish, and continued with a tenser tone:

"Here to repent your sins, Tavish?"

"That, and contemplate."

"Of what?"

"Of the roles of our ancestors. Of the roles of the earliest of Our Lady Redeemer's followers. Of which role I would fit if I were to compare my own life to theirs'."

"And what do you see yourself as? Archon Hessarian, thinking you're doing what must be done?" Cousland inquired, with a slight hint of the attack Tavish may have been involved in.

"Actually Commander Cousland, I prefer to relate myself to Andraste. Her armies defeated, at the mercy of the victors, and without fear of what shall come, and merely waiting for the sword of mercy to pierce her heart."

"Andraste was defeated only because of Maferath. Are you saying you are facing a betrayer?"

"No, there is no betrayer of faith, no modern Maferath. Though there is, perhaps, an Archon Hessarian. A man with a Sword of Mercy, a man waiting to take the life of the defeated."

"Then why are you here? Why are you standing unguarded and unready, waiting for the Sword of Mercy while Andraste fought with every being in her body until she knew she could fight no more?"

Tavish could feel the causticity of his words, a restrained exasperation of which could range anywhere from a harmless annoyance to an intent to kill. He paused, contemplating The Warden's question for a moment, before replying with another verse:

"Maker, my enemies are abundant.  
>Many are those who rise up against me.<br>But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear-"

Cousland stopped, taking one last step by swiftly rising one foot in front of the other and sharply impacting it to the ground, as if trying to strike a downed foe. He leaned one shoulder forward as if he were about to make an accusation before the Seneschal's Court. His eyes narrowed to slits, his eyebrows knotted, and he silenced the sound of Tavish's tranquil-seeming faith with words of wrath:

"I'm in no fucking mood to unriddle the Chant!"

His voice boomed across the building of faith with amplified resonance, the eruption of vocals bouncing from the walls and creating a lingering echo that rung in their ears.

Tavish recoiled, perturbed at first from the resentment, but soon back to his point of neutrality and spoke back:

"Ten years ago, when I first pledged myself as Her Grace's protector, The Grey Wardens were still new to Ferelden, a respectful people who slew Darkspawn and did not interfere with any Templars' duties. The Landsmeet and The Grand Cleric sat idly in the years following their return, but I saw what they did not. The Ferelden Wardens of old started the same way, but would begin to invoke the right of conscription upon our mages, and soon after would consolidate their power into the land and stronghold into what became Soldier's Peak. And given time, they became famous, they became loved and idolized by the Fereldens of Arland's time. And they would use it to their advantage, eventually attempting to usurp the king and claim sovereignty. But when they faltered and the King's men were at their fortress, they revealed colors unbeknownst to the people out of desperation. They had trained maleficarum, not merely blood magic or arts outside the chantry, but the act of summoning demons against us. No darkspawn, no Blight, requires the consorting of the Fade's darkest. And they were expelled, for a time, until the day came that King Maric reintroduced them. And then it began to start all over again: they started respectful, than overruled Andraste by conscripting Mages, consolidated their power in the Arling of Amaranthine, and are growing stronger each day. But this time, one of their own sits upon the throne while they do."

"Alistair's also a Templar, in case you didn't know."

"A Templar in training, a Templar in combat, perhaps even slightly a Templar in faith, but he has never been a Templar in allegiance. It is clear he gave that to you and your kind."

"And what? You thought that because the King supports me that it's more reason for you to attack?"

"I did what I had to. If the royalty shall not do their duty to the Maker, than it is our own to make up the difference. I attacked your Keep, knowing that I was facing forces stronger than any other, just as Andraste did in her day. She did not have a guarantee that she could topple the most powerful empire in history. She did not know that the world would join her as it did. She attacked because she knew what was right, and so did I."

There it was. A confession. The Warden had come to The Chantry of Denerim to begin an investigation, but it was there he had also finished it. He was done being the judge and jury, now it was time to be the executioner.

Tavish didn't have time to react as The Warden-Commander began moving again. From the Knight-Commander's perspective, it was as if it took The Warden no time at all to shift from standing still to the dash that closed the distance between them in a blink of an eye. He unsheathed the sword he had taken from the subordinate that had fallen to Templars, its blade still besmirched in dried blood from his encounter with the Templar-Hunters. A deleterious stare of the Commander of the Grey entered Tavish's point blank view, followed by a matching tone as words of poison materialized from Cousland's voice:

"But we're not prophets, we're not disciples. We're just men."

The Warden swung his blade, piercing through Tavish's Templar armor with ease and drawing blood from the torso beneath. Tavish let out a yelp of pain and stumbled back until he was leaning again the low stone wall of the circular enclosure.

"We're men that bleed when we're cut."

The Warden-Commander poised his sword at Tavish's chest and continued uninterrupted:

"We're men that die when we bleed. Which leaves me only one question, what type of man are you?"

"Tavish shuddered at first, but soon spoke final words that continued with the same resolve:

"Just a man doing his job."

The Warden-Commander stood silent for a moment, lingering with the same lethal stare, before leaning closer to Tavish's face, and responding with eerie, chilling words:

"Me too."

Cousland's blade sunk itself into Tavish's chest, the sound of bone snapping and ruining of tissue accompanying it. The blade thrust its way past Tavish's innards and pierced the skin of the other side, its impact propelling blood out of the posterior wound and unto the sacred birth site of Andraste, the crimson liquid landing upon the silk and candles, extinguishing several lit tips of the decorative wax. Tavish's face was of anguish first, but soon, lifelessness. The blade had severed the vessels between his lungs, and within a split-second he didn't have the strength to cry out in pain.

The Warden-Commander removed his blade, using one hand to push Tavish away from it as he reeled back his grip on the other. When it was fully removed, Tavish descended, his body moving over the short stone wall he had been leaning over and fell into the enclosure, crashing into the site forbidden to be disturbed. The candles flying, the silk torn and stained. Blood oozed from his corpse, tainting the spot that thousands had knelt before and prayed. Where once lie Brona giving birth to the most devout of The Maker's children now lie the remains of a man whom was to lead their guardians of faith.

The Hero of Ferelden stood still and stoic for a moment, looking down on the latest of his casualties. After a moment, he shifted his eyes up, towards the bronze statue of Andraste, the pinnacle amongst symbols of faith. He remembered when he blindly believed in her, when he was a sheltered kid growing up in Highever Castle. But after the Blight, after becoming The Commander of The Grey, and after all the decisions he had to make, he could never return to it. He could never just look to the sky and know there was a higher power that he should thank. That after braving through the Blight, after banishing Pride Demons, slaying High Dragons, facing the forces of a Hero-turned-Tyrant, and ending Urthemiel; that he should fear his own death and the fate that followed. That he should view the punishment of the wandering the Fade and never reaching the Maker's side to be so terrible. For whatever dark ending would await him there, for whatever unheard screams he may make in a damned eternity, they would be his and his alone. For an afterlife was a singular fate, and no matter what he faced, it would not affect others and his actions would . And that's more than could be said than his current lot in life.

Yet, he also remembered the warmth he felt when he believed in such things; the security, the comfort. He remembered the time in his life when he believed in The Maker, when he felt truly at peace. But now he was a Grey Warden, now he was a leader of Grey Wardens. He could not naively believe in The Chant while he faced darkened opponents that did not, he could not dumb down his logic and think that he was doing his best by not striving for the greater good just because a possible higher power said so. He could not look at the World through what he perceived as the rose-colored glasses of the Chantry, and be trusted to make decisions when there was so much rotten, so much evil that couldn't be overcome while bounded to The Chant of Light. He was but one man, and his happiness meant nothing compared to the happiness of all those he affected.

The Warden-Commander turned from Andraste and began to make his way to the door; slowly walking away without any words. He had much to answer for, much to redeem for if he could, but the solution didn't lie there. Not now, not for him, not while he was still alive and Commander of the Grey.

...

Denerim's Market District was as it had been eight years ago: a large, bustling center of activity. Merchants shouting slogans, men and women gossiping, children innocently laughing and playing. The guards stood watch for thieves and petty crimes, while those same criminals looked back at the guards waiting for a window of opportunity. No outsider would guess that seven years ago this was all burning, screams of the innocent and dying that would fill the air if not drowned out by the sounds of Darkspawn onslaught. Blood had painted the streets of Denerim, and all seemed lost until a young Grey Warden ended the Archdemon and drove back the Darkspawn. And since then, Denerim has rebuilt, forgotten, and became its usual self once more; just as any city touched by the previous Blights did.

Cousland stood at the corner of the Market Square that diverged into a path leading to the Elven Alienage, and a path leading to assorted buildings such as the The Wonders of Thedas and The Warehouse. He waited in one spot, watching the door to the Gnawed Noble Tavern open and close as intelligent patrons entered and left as inebriated fools. A few minutes passed, and eventually a dwarf with a red beard wet with droplets of ale emerged from the Tavern. He didn't notice The Warden-Commander's presence at first, but soon noticed his superior, and said the opening words:

"Eh, didn't you tell me to meet at the Alienage?"

"Yes, but you're predictable. And already five minutes late. Anyway, did you contact the Seneschal like I asked?"

"Aye, he sent someone to get the whiny one to the throne room."

"Good, go ahead and-"

The Warden-Commander abruptly stopped as he felt a tug at the hem of his shirt. He looked down and saw a child, a young boy about as tall as one of his legs and with an excited disposition in his face and words:

"Mister! Mister! Are you really the Hero of Ferelden? Did you really fight all those Darkspawn? Do you shoot lightning bolts out of your eyes? And-"

"Yes, yes, and why not? Now I have to go save The King from a dragon god, so why don't you go run along and-"

"But, he-"

The child pointed at Oghren and continued:

"-said you would give me an autograph if I gave him a silver for that building!"

Cousland's eyes narrowed at Oghren:

"You took money from a kid-"

"It was the whole silver the Revered Mother gave me!"

"Pardon me, you took money from an **orphan**, to drink?"

"Ehhh..."

"You know what, sure, you can have my autograph. Do you have a quill?"

"Oh do I!"

The child raised his arms with a rolled up piece of blank parchment in one hand and a freshly inked quill prepared just for the occasion in the other. The Warden-Commander grabbed both, unrolling the parchment and using one hand to press it against the wall of the tavern in order to have a hard surface to write on, and using the other to sign his full name in big, stylized letters. While doing so, Oghren approached him and inquired:

"So, did you, uh, finish your business with the sodding Chantry and that Knight-Commander?"

"Tavish..."

Cousland, mindful of the youth near him, replied tactfully:

"...we won't be seeing him anymore."

"Eh, I was asking if you killed the blighter."

"_Dammit Oghren__._"

"Wow! You killed him? Did you shoot him with lightning bolts? Was he a dragon in disguise?"

The Warden-Commander, finished writing his signature, knelt down to the child's eye level and handed him the signed parchment, trying to deter his imagination with a message as he did:

"Here you go, one authentic autograph from the Hero of Ferelden. And remember: real heroes don't kill people. And eat their vegetables at dinner."

"Thanks, Mister!"

The child ran off, presumably to show his new possession to his friends. As soon as he was out of earshot, Cousland irritatedly spoke:

"Seriously, Oghren? He was a kid."

"So? I was learnin' how to fight when I was his age."

"And? You were probably getting drunk for the first time at his age too, doesn't mean you can do that on the surface."

"Drunk for the first time? Commander, I was tastin' the brew years before then, eheh heh."

"Right, forget I asked. Anyway, you said Alistair was going to be at the Throne Room?"

"Aye, they said he'll be there in a few."

Cousland turned from Oghren and began to move further down the path leading to The Wonders of Thedas store and The Warehouse, having a few more words in the passing conversation while he did:

"Then find Bethany and go to the royal palace ahead of me. I have a few things to get from our cache while I'm here."

"You're not goin' to buy anything new while you're here?"

"They don't sell any High Dragonbone or Volcanic Aurum weapons in Denerim, and chances are all the merchants would try to get me to say 'I'm Commander Cousland, and this is my favorite store on The Marketplace' or something."

...

The Warden-Commander stood inside the warehouse of the Market District. He had made his way to a familiar spot that Riordan once informed him of, a discreet corner where two empty shelving units were out of sight from the Warehouse's typical visitors.

"_Let's see, I just flip the hidden switch right here, aaaaaand..._"

The empty shelves parted, revealing an entrance to the Grey Warden Vault. Though it was the same vault where The Warden had once found Duncan's Shield, it had since been re-outfitted to store certain retired equipment due to The Ferelden Wardens' relocation to Vigil's Keep. In particular, equipment that The Warden had used in the early stages of his career. The Juggernaut Armor Set, Wade's Dragonbone Plate, Yusaris, even the old Cousland Family Sword that he acquired from Highever Castle's Treasury.

However, The Warden was looking for one particular set of equipment, something he had locked away even from his fellow Wardens. He had kept it in storage, hoping he wouldn't have to use it again after a disastrous Deep Roads campaign. But if he were to encounter any Templar resistance, he would need the best he armor and weapon he had.

A large wooden two-door cabinet, mundane in outside appearance but containing a built-in lock as if tailored to hide away something valuable. The Warden-Commander reached into a pocket, producing a key into his hand and unlocking the cabinet doors. He opened them, and was greeted by the sight of an armor stand displaying colors onyx black and blood red - his old Warden Sentinel Armor. Acquired long ago during a mission to The Blackmarsh of Amaranthine, the Sentinel Armor was likely the most efficient set of armor he had ever worn. And given the number of times he had killed something hostile and took whatever it was wearing, that's saying something.

The Sentinel Armor itself was still intact and as useful as the day he found it, save the Helmet which Cousland had lost on the aforementioned Deep Roads campaign and hadn't seen in years. At the foot of the armor stand lay another piece of equipment he had kept locked away, a blade unlike any other, colored a vibrant light blue and enchanted with a grandmaster's rune of lightning - his Starfang longsword. It was the weapon he wielded at the time of the Archdemon's defeat, and he considered it the second best sword that he had ever used (the best having been stolen by the Antivan Crows years earlier). And next to Starfang's hilt, a small, but peculiar lyrium potion. Inside the vial, rested liquid lyrium, but it was colored a vibrant scarlet, unlike any of the typical blue lyrium he had encountered in his travels. He had found it in the Deep Roads, located close to where the Fifth Blight's Archdemon was thought to have first appeared. It gave a certain...impression. Something suspicious, something that couldn't be trusted in the hands of others. He had locked it up along with his armor, not wanting it to be handled by his subordinates.

In addition to Starfang, also lay next to the armor was a Heartwood Shield, crafted by Master Wade during the Fifth Blight's Thaw. And lying on top of the shield was a small amulet containing trace amounts of darkspawn blood from The Warden's Joining - His Warden's Oath.

The Warden-Commander pick up his Warden's Oath, peering at the darkspawn blood inside. Even after all these years, the vivid memories of The Joining seemed to emit from it. He wrapped it around his neck and began to get the rest of equipment on, having a lingering feeling that there were still many more memories just like The Joining to make.

...

The doors leading to The Royal Palace's Throne Room (which also served as the Landsmeet Chamber and was where Loghain had met his end) swung open, Cousland emerging from them and declaring:

"Alistair, we need to talk."

Cut to the opposite side of the room, upon the actual throne sat Alistair Theirin, wearing the ceremonial royal armor, nearly identical to what his half-brother/predecessor once wore. Upon Alistair's arms rested an infant, swaddled in an adorned blanket. The Warden continued:

"...Why in Andraste's Name did you bring your son?"

Alistair, ignoring the question, looked at The Warden-Commander with that certain grin, the sign of playfulness and jesting that was unique to him. He pointed out The Warden to his child and spoke in the certain ridiculous tone that a Father does to entertain their child:

"Oh look, it's Uncle Cousland! Say hi Uncle Cousland!"

The prince made a sound that, phonetically, sounded like: "I Un-Uh Oo-lin!"

The Warden-Commander began to move down the center, speaking as he did:

"Why do you keep telling him to call me that? I'm not his uncle, and I don't exactly have a good luck streak of being one."

"And why do you always like to talk while walking down long rooms? Did the idear ever come to mind that you could just...wait until you're not more than fifty feet away from me or something?"

"It's a thing I do. Now shut up and listen."

Alistair looked back at his child and said:

"Ooooh, Uncle Cousland said 'shut up.' Shut up's a baaaaddd word. Uncle Cousland's a mean grouch!"

Once again, the Alistair's offspring attempted repeat after his father: "'rou-ch! 'rou-ch!"

"If you had the day I've had, you'd be pretty fu-"

Cousland bit his tongue mid-sentence and replaced his planned obscurity with something acceptable to say in front of children:

"-freaking grouchy alright."

The Warden-Commander was at the bottom of steps leading to the throne now. Alistair took the opportunity to stand up, extend his arms forward, and shove his heir apparent as close to The Commander of The Grey's face as possible.

"Oh but why grouchy when-you-could have-a-fun-day-isn't-that-right?"

"Stop showing off your dam- darned kid. I get it Alistair, you're not a virgin anymore. Your lamppost was licked. Everyone's really happy for you."

Something in Cousland's voice caused the the infant disappointment. Not the sort of sad crumpling that comes to a baby's face when they're about to cry, but rather, the serious face they make when they're unhappy that they didn't get what they want. Alistair continued with the eccentric fatherly voice:

"Awww, you made his Highness sa-ahhhh-d."

"And I care so much. Really, this is how much I care."

"Well-I-think-you-should-say-sorry-and-stop-"

His patience waned, The Warden-Commander spoke the most attention-catching response he could think of in order to stop the tangent:

"Hey Alistair, Anora ordered Antivan Crows to assassinate you."

Alistair's face immediately turned from vivacious to dumbfounded and blank. He said a confused "What?" as his grip became weak and the future King of Ferelden slipped from his outstretched hands. The Warden, seeing this, immediately forwent his no-swearing policy in-front of the child and shouted:

"SON OF A BITCH!"

The Warden-Commander's raced up the stone steps leading and dove forward with heroic instinct. He landed on his stomach with his arms stretched as forward as possible, and a jolt of relief hit him when he felt the dropped Prince land safely in his hands. He looked up and reprimanded the King:

"Maker, Alistair, you don't just drop your firstborn son like that!"

"But you said- I mean, Anora? Crows? What?"

"Forget that, he could've hit his head!"

"I'm, uh, sorry?"

"Sorry? One drop like that and he could've been messed up for life! I've already had to tell one idiot what to do on the throne, and there's no way you're going to put me through doing that again."

The Warden rose from the ground with the infant his arms, checking his wellness and speaking his name with a sudden softness:

"Are you alright, Prince Duncan?"

Cousland mentally scanned for any abnormalities, making sure his expression wasn't agitated, his skin was still unblemished, his neck still turned properly, etc. Eventually, he handed him back to Alistair with accompanying words:

"He's fine. Though, speaking of his name, why did you name him Duncan, again? It probably would've been a lot more politically sound for you to name him after Maric, or even just Eamon. Back at the ceremony all the nobles looked at eachother and were said: 'Oh, isn't it swell? The next king shall be Duncan Theirin...who in the Fade was Duncan, again?'"

"Riiiight, now, do you mind telling me what this entire 'my wife wanting to kill me' thing is?"

"Right, that. Well, remember how shocked you were when I told you 'Anora ordered Antivan Crows to assassinate you?' Well I need you to keep that shock, but replace that 'Anora' part with 'Knight-Commander Tavish.' And that 'Antivan Crows' part with 'Templars.' And that 'You' part with 'Me.'"

"And why, didn't you tell me this to start with?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was my fault that you didn't let me get a word in because you were too busy telling your son the guy who put you on the throne was a 'grouch.' And that you might as well be telling him: 'Mah boy! This stupidity is what all true warriors strive for!'"

"What?"

"Get one of your servants and tell them to put your kid somewhere far out of earshot. Trust me, he doesn't need to hear what I'm about to tell you."

...

Half an hour had passed, with Cousland having told his friend every detail of what had happened during the Templar attack and the events leading up to it. Alistair, after a long silence of listening, inquired:

"So, this Knight-Commander Tavish, we met him?"

"Back during the Blight. He was the one I handed the Collective's evidence to, never thought it would take this long for him to get back to me."

"And...you killed him?"

"Yes."

"Couldn't you have just detained him and, you know, not kill Templars in the middle of a Chantry?"

"I can say it's Grey Warden business. Besides, why give the Grand Cleric a chance to get involved in his defense? He confessed right in front of me, and I had the ability to enforce what was done there. This will go over a lot smoother with the public than an arrest would, trust me."

"But why would he tell you that he did it? It's not like he couldn't have known what would happen."

"I wondered that myself. Guilt comes to mind, but if I know the Templars, especially considering the Kirkwall Incident, there has to be more to it than that. The way he confessed directly...it's like he was purposefully trying to take the blame in place of someone else. It could be The Grand Cleric, maybe even higher. All I know is that killing Tavish was the safest thing to do given what we know so far."

"What about-"

Alistair was cut off as a noise of destruction was heard. It was a rumble, a distant one, but powerful, like the sound of thunder that comes to the ear five seconds after the lightning appears. It was immediately followed by two figures entering the room: two soldiers both suited up in full sets of the Royal Family Honor Guard's armor, running towards the two Wardens with a frantic pace. One began speaking, in a nervously hurried voice:

"Your Majesty, The Marketplace, it...it..."

The King stood back up and angled his eyes down at the Guards as he stuttered, his tone becoming serious when he spoke:

"What are you talking about men? It what?"

Alistair and Cousland always seemed to have a certain unspoken mutual agreement: that when they were together, Cousland would lead and Alistair follow, which had continued to present-day despite Alistair's ascension to the throne. And of course, Alistair always had a chronic lack of being boringly serious, making him possibly one of the less intimidating figures that have sat on the throne. And it was for that reason The Warden was always surprised when Alistair actually showed his more commanding side as he was now. Given, Alistair's control was nowhere near as dominating as The Warden-Commander's, but still, it was quite obvious that he had more capability in the King's executive duties than he'd admit. It was perhaps best put in what Loghain's last words may have been, if he had been defeated by The Now-King at the Landsmeet: _"So there is something of Maric in you after all..."_

The Royal Guardsman responded with more uncertainty:

"It's being attacked...I think..."

"You 'think' it's being attacked? What, the capital 'might be' under severe threat of assault? Maybe? Perhaps?"

The speaking Royal Guardsman continued to stutter with words, eventually his partner speaking for him:

"Templars, they're...slaughtering those in the Market District."

"Slaughtering who?"

"Everyone; guards, nobles, merchants, bystanders...women...children..."

"What are you waiting for then? Send all available units to the Marketplace, now!"

"It's not that simple. When they started...some of the civilians ...got hold of weapons. They started fighting back the Templars and attacked the guards that tried to help."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know!"

"Has there been any reports of an incident that may have sparked this?"

"No, they...I don't know! I don't know!"

The Warden stood silent and thought of any possible explanation, scanning his memories and remembering past experiences that may have a connection. After a brief pause, he recalled a possible cause, and stated it aloud:

"Poison Gas."

All heads turned to face The Hero of Ferelden as he continued:

"There was a report a few years ago from one of my scouts in Kirkwall. Apparently someone got a hold of some fake explosive formula and released it in the city. The Champion of Kirkwall was able to contain it, but not before several civilians had gone mad from its effects and attacked her in the process. If someone released that in the heart of Denerim..."

The Warden suddenly snapped back into his authoritative stance. He pointed at the trembling Royal Guard and commanded:

"You there, go find the highest-ranking officer within the vicinity of the palace and tell them The King has sent word for all to not engage unless engaged upon. And you there, do a quick sweep of the palace for any possible infiltrators and then rejoin The King's side. And Alistair, find wherever the two Wardens that arrived before me are and bring them to the emergency room."

Simultaneous sayings of "Yes, Ser" were heard from both of the Royal Guardsmen as they hastily proceeded to follow his orders. Alistair, on the other hand awkwardly lingered in front of The Warden, before saying:

"Um, where was the emergency room, again?"

"In the royal bedroom. Just pull the third book from the right at the bottom of the bookshelf in there and it should revolve."

"...And am I supposed to say 'Yes Ser' too?"

"Just go get your majestic ass somewhere safe."

With that, Alistair maneuvered his way out of the Landsmeet Chamber and out of sight from The Warden. Cousland could tell in his movements that he had not lost his fighting physique despite seven lofty years as a hands-off king, and that had the nation's stability hinged on his life, he would've been perfectly able to help him handle whatever lay outside the palace. In fact, he probably wanted to, the built-up stress of being a man that merely ordered others what to do rather than doing it themselves likely affecting him as much it did The Warden-Commander. After all, he never wanted to become King, just as Cousland never wanted to become a Grey Warden. Willing? Yes, but willing to become something and wanting to become something are worlds apart when one must choose which life they shall pursue for the rest of their days.

But it seemed distant, for the moment, for there was a real threat outside, and like the assault on Vigil's Keep: a break from monotonous duties of the past seven years. It was strange; how he harbored certain regrets after he took a life, yet how effective he was in combat and how being dormant at Vigil's Keep caused him restlessness. But regardless, now was not the time for contemplation, for no matter what his personal feelings were, it didn't change the fact that he had a job to do.

...

Cousland stepped out to the area of in front of the Palace's main gate. It was relatively open, a simple space with pathways to the left and right that eventually lead to Fort Drakon. Several paces ahead was the top of a staircase that descended forward from The Warden's position. He vividly remembered that spot, it was a choke point that the Darkspawn exploited by placing a line of Genlocks and an ogre to defend back during their assault on Denerim, back during the climax of his life.

And now, it was the opposite: four Ferelden soldiers were lined across the top step, each with their weapon drawn and ready for a coming threat.

Without warning, a cloud of smoke large enough to envelop the group of guards appeared, blocking out everything further than a couple meters from The Warden-Commander's field of view.

The sound of lightning erupted seemingly from thin air, followed immediately by the sound of an inferno greater than a widespread forest fire.

A soldier reentered Cousland's sight, thrown into the air from the unseen chaos. He landed next to The Warden's feet, rendered wordless from the sudden attack. Before he could regain control of his senses, the invisible force of telekinesis had taken hold of the knocked-back soldier, and with one seamlessly hastened motion, his neck was snapped and his life taken.

The smoke began to settle, the source of the attack soon revealing itself: a lone man, dressed in a mage's robes.

The man's appearance was not exceptionally unique, yet to The Warden it was more eerie than his dreams of Urthemiel. He wore fine Circle Robes, green and purple vestments nearly identical to those Irving once wore. His skin was pale; not just the moderately uncommon pale like those who spent most of their days away from the sun, but a tone as grey as ashes, like that of a sick man locked away for years in a lightless dungeon. They had never met before, though to Cousland his face was familiar, too familiar. He had almost the same structure of face, the same attractive features and shape that he had. Not entirely identical, but in the same way Alistair looked like Cailan. But to The Warden it didn't feel like finding a long lost sibling, it felt like looking at a mirror tinted in black.

The smoke had cleared, and the figure named The Hero of Ferelden by title and surname:

"Warden-Commander Cousland."

As his details were fully discerned, The Warden realized who exactly the figure was. Only one mage in Ferelden had the power that he had displayed. Only one mage matched the dossiers The Warden-Commander kept on the top individuals in Ferelden. And now with his appearance, schemes were revealing themselves in The Warden's mind, that perhaps all of the possible causes he thought of for the chaos were wrong: because only one mage could've possibly created the disarray that Denerim had unexpectedly been thrown in to. Cousland looked back at him with undaunted eyes, and addressed him in the same manner that he had been named:

"...First Enchanter Amell."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> ...Well, did that plot twist feel a little off? It's something I've planned around the same time I wrote Chapter One (hence why I wrote that long paragraph in chapter one about the political situation at the circle), so I hope not. And yes, that "Amell" is the same one from the Human Magi Origin of DA:O. Just because The Warden in this story is a Human Noble doesn't mean his counterparts never existed, though it does mean he was the only one who met Duncan and thus actually became a Grey Warden. Most Origin Possible Wardens are presumed dead if you don't pick them as your Warden, though the only one that can be confirmed to die is the Dwarf Commoner (and I think the Dalish one was confirmed in DA2, but I'm not sure). It's detailed slightly what happened to each potential Warden in the Dragon Age Wiki (if you want to read up on it, go to "The Warden" page on the Dragon Age Wiki, go to the "Story" subsection, and look for a list of all the potential Wardens' last names).

And now, to make these boring Author's Notes sections longer, here's some more asterisks:

*Why's The Warden so tense and not being witty like he was in previous chapters? Because he's pissed off. Someone attacked his fortress, sent people to have him killed, and all of it resulted in the death of one of his Wardens. Also, because one goal I had in the prologue was to make a normal-seeming character in the beginning that would gradually reveal a deep personal conflict through his, yet through his actions also show sufficient stability and hardness to handle all of his conflicting thoughts. Hence why The Warden has been described more dramatically rather than the lighter style I started out with. Note that this doesn't mean that everything's going to be so serious for the rest of the story, and soon he'll be back in the casual state I depicted earlier.

*I was originally going to make my description of Denerim's Chantry more grand and like something you'd see in a real life cathedral, but then I remembered that Denerim's Chantry looked fairly practical from the outside and like most other buildings of Denerim (albeit larger). Also, in case you don't remember, you can't enter Denerim's Chantry in DA:O. Templars were blocking the door and said something about it being closed due to all the funerals.

*The entire "semicircle" description (which I probably made too prolonged and mathematical) was inspired by a particular picture I saw on the DA Wiki. If you're having trouble visualizing it, or are just curious, go ahead and Google "Chantry of our lady redeemer" and click the first result (should be a DA wiki page). Click on the picture of the DA:O Chantry that they have in the template, and look at the ceiling of it. You'll notice that the ceiling has a design to it, kind of resembling the sun rays that are on Chantry robes in DA:O.

*"Our Lady Redeemer" is another term for Andraste (in addition to "Lady of Sorrow," "Bride of the Maker," and simply "Prophet")

*Archon Hessarian was the Archon of the Tevinter Imperium during Andraste's rebellion, and was the one who had her burned at the stake. He is also, according to the in-game Chant of Light, the one who than personally stabbed her out of mercy in order to end the pain of being burned alive, and than converted to the Chant.

*The Warden saying "I'm not his uncle, and I don't exactly have a good luck streak of being one" is a reference the Human Noble Origin, where Oren (i.e. the kid who calls your character "Uncle" and asks you to teach him how to use a sword) is killed by Howe's soldiers.

*The "Mah Boy! This stupidity is what all true warriors strive for!" part was a reference to the infamous Zelda CD-I cutscene. Yes, I have a shitty sense of humor.

*Fun fact: Amell was originally going to be female in this story, but then I remembered I described the First Enchanter as a "he" in chapter one, and didn't want to cause any confusion.


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